The cave incident
by brainstorm1001
Summary: Three years after the lost battle of Hogwarts Lord Voldemort attempts revenge. Regrettably, he has never learned from his mistakes and underestimates Harry's incredible luck again. HPLV later. Warning: mix of drama, angst and comedy!
1. The nightmare

**The cave incident**

Three years after the lost battle of Hogwarts Lord Voldemort attempts revenge. Regrettably, he has never learned from his mistakes and underestimates Harry's incredible luck again. HPLV. Warning: Cranky mix of drama, angst and comedy! There'll be some not too explicit violence in later chapters. Drama, Humor, Romance.

_Some fragments are__ not mine__. I took them__ from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, ch. 36, p. 390., modified for purposes of this fanfic._

**The nightmare**

_He was standing in a huge room, surrounded by his mortal enemies and there were hundreds of scared, yet malevolent eyes on him, wishing to corner him like a hunted animal. Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived, the source of his utmost hatred and pain, the one fated to defeat him, the one who destroyed his most precious Horcruxes, pieces of Lord Voldemort himself, was standing across their small 'arena' jeering at him in the most aggravating manner and speaking to him once again. _

_* "But before you try to kill me, I'd advise you think what you've done... Think, and try for some remorse, Riddle…."_

"_What is this?"_

_Of all the things what Potter said, nothing had shocked him like this. He felt a surge of anger taking over his self-control. But the raven-haired brat seemed to be exceptionally resistant to his fury._

"_It's your one last chance. It's all you've got left … I've seen what you'll be otherwise… Be a man …. Try ... Try for some remorse..." _

"_You dare__- ?" he whispered again, seething in frenzy._

"_Yes, I dare," said Potter, "because Dumbledore's last plan hasn't backfired on me at all. It's backfired on you, Riddle."_

_His own hand with__ the Elder Wand trembled as he tried to keep his mouth shut and not shout those two words, which burned on his tongue. Not yet, but the moment, he knew, was seconds away. He saw how Potter gripped his wand very tightly._

"_That wand still isn't working properly for you because you murdered the wrong person. Severus Snape was never the true master of the Elder Wand. He never defeated Dumbledore."_

_What was that? Potter must be wrong. Snape murdered Dumbledore, how could he not be the true master of the Elder Wand then?_

"_He killed__- "_

"_Aren't you listening? Snape never beat Dumbledore! Dumbledore's death was planned between them! Dumbledore intended to die, undefeated, the wand's last true master! If all had gone as planned, the wand's power would have died with him, because it had never been won from him!"_

_How he hated Potter's conviction, that he was the only one who could understand it right. How he would love to see his face frozen in terror once he realized he didn't catch the old fool's intentions right._

"_But then, Potter, Dumbledore as good as gave me the wand!" His voice shook with malicious pleasure. "I stole the wand from its last master's tomb! I removed it against the last master's wishes! Its power is mine!"_

_But the brat calmly shook his head, no fear in his eyes. It was the moment when it got across to him. It wasn't Potter, but he, the Dark Lord Voldemort, who started to be afraid, because once he said this aloud he had to admit to himself that he lied. The Elder Wand's power still didn't belong to him - it was more than obvious how fruitless his curses had been during the battle. _

"_You still don't get it, Riddle, do you? Possessing the wand isn't enough! Holding it, using it, doesn't make it really yours. Didn't you listen to Ollivander? The wand chooses the wizard... The Elder Wand recognized a new master before Dumbledore died, someone who never even laid a hand on it. The new master removed the wand from Dumbledore against his will, never realizing exactly what he had done, or that the world's most dangerous wand had given him its allegiance..."_

_His__ chest rose and fell rapidly, he must curse Potter, not let the fear control him, it must end now, but he needs to know the one last answer...._

"_The true master of the Elder Wand was Draco Malfoy."_

_Blank shock filled his agitated mind and surely leaked into the expression on his face. Quickly he regained self-control. He was safe. Potter means no harm to him and Draco ... ha …. he wasn't even prophesized to kill him, so what threat could he be?_

"_But what does it matter?" he said softly. "Even if you are right, Potter, it makes no difference to you and me. You no longer have the phoenix wand. We duel on skill alone …. and after I have killed you, I can attend to Draco Malfoy...."_

_But that intolerable oaf shook the head once again, all the time incredibly calm and serene. His dread returned unpleasantly fast and intense._

"_But you're too late," Potter said. "You've missed your chance. I got there first. I overpowered Draco weeks ago. I took this wand from him."_

_His heart skipped a beat. He could feel the moment of complete stillness inside his chest. A cold hand of his own mortality squeezed his throat. He couldn't breathe. Somewhere in the back of his mind he saw Potter twitched the Malfoy's wand in his hand. Now he recognized it. _

"_So it all comes down to this, doesn't it?" whispered Potter. "Does the wand in your hand know its last master was Disarmed? Because if it does ... I am the true master of the Elder Wand."_

_A red-glow burst suddenly across the enchanted sky above them as an edge of dazzling sun appeared over the sill of the nearest window. The light hit both their faces at the same time, and he was blind, he was going to die...*_

Voldemort awakened with a jerk, bathing in sweat, shivering with cold. Quickly he dug his bony fingers to his scrawny chest to feel for his heartbeat. As soon as he was completely sure that he just woke up from yet another gruesome nightmare, he sank back into sweaty cushions, growling and closing his eyes tiredly. After he wiped the perspiration off his hairless eyebrows, his mind swiftly skimmed through the following events of his greatest defeat. He remembered how he blindly casted a shielding charm, so Potter's favorite disarming curse couldn't affect him. Even though the Elder Wand in his hand annoyingly protested, he managed to keep it. Then he grabbed some desperately shrieking girl from the crowd and dragged her through the Great Hall, keeping her close as a shield. He recalled Potter's scream of profanities as the room turned into a fiery battlefield again, everyone trying to curse him, to get at least a minor revenge, to block his retreat and strike him down... And he couldn't kill them, not a single person; he has never felt so vulnerable before... Then a green light from someone, whose face he hadn't seen, ended the girl's life instead of his own and he threw her away as a pestiferous burden, shattered the closest window and jumped through so he could fly away. He survived ... narrowly. Thanks to Potter. If the brat kept his mouth shut, he, Lord Voldemort, would surely make his final and fatal mistake. _He should feel obliged._

Voldemort let out agonizing groan before he covered his face by palms.

"How much I hate you Harry Potter! It's been more than two years, yet I still have those insufferable nightmares."

He seized his beloved yew wand and placed it under the pillow. He didn't touch the Elder Wand since the moment of their last encounter as the object was the only reason of his humiliating defeat. He must pull himself together if he wants to master it soon. But his loss was a result of his own misconception and Potter's inconceivable luck - not the brat's abilities or skills, he reasoned.

It's time to end the reign of Potter's indestructible fortune, because it lingers for too long and nothing lasts forever anymore. Not even Lord Voldemort, the greatest and most powerful wizard of them all.

It was always extremely annoying for him to think about his mortality and every time he did, he felt a new surge of frantic hatred towards the boy. However, calculating with a simple statistical probability, Potter has no possible chance of survival, if ... no ... when he attacks him next time.

He rubbed his itching sanguine eyes.

"I loathe you Potter for bringing me to my knees," he snarled. "I detest you for destroying my army, plans, immortality - my whole life - everything what's ever mattered to me. But most of all, I abhor you for making me feel weak. I spent all the time analyzing my mistakes, calculating, thinking, avoiding you, but this will change very soon. I will take my revenge and make you pay dearly for all of this."

After hissing several swear words in Parseltongue he seized a book from the bed table and with a notable portion of hardly suppressed disgust he delved into another Tale of Beedle the Bard.

_**R & R**_

**Author's note:**

Okay, I know that this is mostly taken from the last book, but I needed to write it from Voldemort's POV. The next chapter will be focused on the fate of The-Boy-Who-Lived.

This is obviously not a very funny beginning, but I wanted to make the basis of the story believable.

BUT!!! Harry's giving Voldemort nightmares!!! :D

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	2. What a freaking night, part 1

**What a ****freaking**** night! **

**Part 1**

"Hey dude, what did you say your name was?"

The blond girl sniffed and moved on a chair in a way that everyone in a bar could see her perfect long legs and also her lacy red underwear peeping from behind the hem of her super-tight skirt. Nevertheless, to her complete dismay, the young man who she spoke to didn't seem to notice. He was leaning over the table, keeping his head propped up with one hand and stifling a yawn with the other. He was obviously too drowned in the narcotic effect of alcohol.

The girl budged up again and poked his shoulder.

"Hey, dude!"

Behind an old fashion looking spectacles a pair of tired green eyes winked and opened up.

"Your name?" she insisted.

The lad only snickered, increasing her irritation. And then he did it again and finally he laughed openly and so aloud that even the barman looked at him in confusion.

"What's so funny, four-eyes? You could at least buy me a drink or share your whiskey when you don't want to tell me your name," she wheezed scornfully and tossed her head so her pale mane swept around her shoulders.

"I love muggles," the young man grinned again, when he composed himself. "They don't know my name."*

"You think you're a pop star or what? And what's a muggle?"

When he laughed again she clicked her tongue against her full, pearly lips and winked at some handsome bloke by the next table, who was evidently trying to draw her attention.

"You suck."

She tossed her head again, turned to the other man, casting seductive glances.

"I'm Harry Potter, Barbie," the bespectacled man said quietly, suddenly very serious. "And soon I have an appointment with one evil bastard who wants to put my entire existence to oblivion, so you will do me a really big favor if you remember my name tomorrow."

The blonde took a quick look at him, aggravated.

"You're here to meet a comrade? I thought you came to enjoy my company!"

Harry involuntarily chuckled, queasily stood up, put a silver coin into her palm and nodded towards the other bloke.

"Just go and buy him a drink or two or whatever... Have a pleasant evening at my expense. You won't be the only one."

Her chin dropped and she quickly examined the coin and then her looks in a hand glass to see what exactly was wrong with her, because her companion was clearly leaving. Meanwhile Harry put on a warm pullover, grasped the bottle of whiskey from the table and came slightly tottering towards the door, completely ignoring her confused stare.

_**R & R**_

*******Author's note:** _I wouldn't be so sure that muggles don't know Harry's name. _:-)


	3. What a freaking night, part 2

**What a freaking night! **

**Part 2**

Once he left that fancy house, Harry took another gulp of the burning liquid. So here he stands - the Savior of the Wizarding world - all alone in this empty street full of houses of ill fame. Harry wasn't homeless, though he looked like one as he propped himself against one of the filthy garbage containers. He grimaced when he realized that he would rather lose his lodging than keep on living in the gloomy Grimmauld place full of ghosts of his past. But frankly speaking, the situation wasn't really so bad. Curiously enough, there were still some people who admired him, some people have never stopped thinking of him as their closest friend (he smiled as he recalled Hermione's and Ron's face) and some people still have taken care of him, though it wasn't necessary (the rest of the Order, of course). However most of the Wizarding world almost despised him. Actually he was lucky he could wander around aimlessly instead of sitting all chained in Azkaban, having Dementors dining at the enormous amount of dreadful memories he can't escape.

He wished that Voldemort either killed him or died - whatever just not what really happened at the very end of the battle of Hogwarts. He was forced to go through this every night in his dreams over and over again. The worst scene of all was when Riddle finally realized he couldn't win and snatched Ginny's arm to hold her as a shield against the curses. Harry remembered, how he screamed his throat raw, when he tried to command everyone not to attack him, how he cursed breathlessly when they didn't listen. He couldn't avoid seeing the green light, which ended her life and he felt as if he was dying instead. He saw how Voldemort threw her away and jumped through the window, but he couldn't care anymore. He only saw the man who killed her. Maybe accidentally, but it mattered not to him at the moment. After all the suffering and exhaustion he simply couldn't take this. He remember pointing his wand at that bloke and torturing him almost to the brink of madness. It wasn't important who stopped it or how, he was already numb and empty. Even when they questioned him, blamed him for betrayal and joining the Dark side, his mind was in some kind of a stupor.

He took a long gulp of whiskey. This helped a lot.

Harry believed that there were several reasons to keep him at liberty. First, Voldemort is alive. It is a good reason on its own accord. As long as they didn't prove him to be on the Dark side, where he definitely wasn't, he remained according to the prophecy the only person who could defeat the Dark Lord. Second, he has many friends among the Order and they always tried to protect him, even in face of the ministry employees. Third, the Wizengamot is too preoccupied with trials concerning the rest of the Death Eaters. They really don't want to send their 'Savior' among them.

Another gulp of whiskey.

Harry stopped his uneven waddle and turned is face upwards. It was snowing. What a peaceful sight of floating snowflakes falling from the night sky, dazzling in the street light and covering his face – melting into tiny drops, trickling down his cheeks as if he was crying. He thought he should, but all his tears were long gone.

Harry wondered why almost everyone thought of him as a fallen hero in present days. Indeed, he tried to save the people he loved, but lost most of them and now he was exhausted of the endless fight, not willing to continue. If this is what makes the hero fall, then so be it. Voldemort made it easier for him as he disappeared Merlin knows where. It was okay with him. He wanted to be left alone with that empty place in his soul where Ginny should have been. Hermione and Ron were still trying hard to bring him back and make him at least a little happy, but how could they succeed, when he didn't want to cooperate? He loved them, of course, but they couldn't live his life. But alcohol and whores made it better only for evenings. The mornings were terrible. So it was a sort of relief when he received a letter today at breakfast. In an absolutely common envelope he found a simple note written on a little piece of a yellow parchment.

_Let's finish it tonight Potter. I expect you to come alone._

_You will deeply regret if you disobey me._

_This parchment is a Portkey, which activates automatically at midnight._

_Say goodbyes to your __'friends'._

_L__ord Voldemort_

Of course Harry didn't tell his friends a thing. Any more people to go with him and die for him? Not a chance! He wrote them a letter. He explained them the situation, but didn't tell them where to find him. It should be easier for them, he hoped. Harry didn't want to see them suffer anymore.

He swayed a little and stopped his tottering waddle to take a deep breath. Now he was seriously drunk. Even better. He's going to make fun of Voldemort. Leastwise he will kill him faster. There was no time to make some great plan, no ingenious strategies to be formed and it didn't even bother him too much. He will simply go there and fight the man who destroyed him so entirely. Voldemort is right; it must end now, one way or the other.

Distracted, Harry rubbed his forehead.

Apropos, what was the time?

After several unsuccessful attempts he managed to free his watch from his trousers and focused his fuzzy eyesight on the clock-face.

Damn it! It was twenty minutes after midnight. Voldemort must be completely mad at him by now.

Harry chuckled again and seemingly uninterested pulled the small paper out of his back pocket. The moment he touched the parchment he felt a strong tug in his navel. However, before he could throw up, his feet left the ground and up he was speeding in a howl of wind and colors.

Harry hit the ground with a loud thud and lost his balance. He fell on his knees, ripping open his jeans. But what bothered him most at the moment was his bottle, which crashed and spilled the rest of the liquid all around.

"Damn!" he cursed, fighting his nausea. He tried to get up and take a look of his surroundings, but before he could even lift his head up a pair of black shoes came into his view.

"You are very late for your execution, Harry Potter," a high cold voice sneered, hardly covering his wrath that he had to wait for so long.

Harry opened his mouth to give him an answer, but his stomach suddenly couldn't keep its content anymore, so instead of a reply he puked explosively on the polished shoes and silky black robes.

At the deadly silence that followed, he managed to raise his head up and jeer at the familiar snake-like face with a pair of furious, yet disturbed blood-red eyes.

"Hello Riddle. Long time no see, eh?"

_**R & R**_

**Author's note:** Comments?


	4. To the cave, part 1

**To the cave**

**Part 1**

"Potter!" Voldemort seethed, his long spidery fingers making frantic little movements as he magically wiped away all the bile from his robes and shoes and took a few steps back to reach a safe distance.

"Should say I'm sorry though I'm not..." Harry hiccupped and cleaned his mouth into the sleeve. His mind became foggier by every minute as the alcohol soaked up into his bloodstream. He should do something about it before he loses himself completely. He began to fumble the clothes to feel for his wand.

"Where the hell is ... hic ... you know what ... my wand?" he gabbled, tugging at his pockets.

"What is this charade all about, Potter?" the Dark Lord whispered dangerously, eyeing him closely. The situation was developing in a completely different way than he had expected. But it shouldn't surprise him; it always worked that way with the brat. He decided against cursing him yet as he needed to be very careful this time. On the instant a sharp, sweetish aroma excited his sensitive nostrils and he glanced sideward at shards of glass beside his enemy. It took him only a second to figure it out. Once he did, he howled in a fit of cold maniacal laughter, unable to stop for a whole minute.

"You're drunk," he cackled. "Sottish Potter. You couldn't possibly make it easier for me!"

"So what?" Harry sputtered, when he finally found his - or rather Draco's old wand in his jeans.

Voldemort magnificently raised his upper lip and sneered. Soft black robes swept around his tall, skinny body in a sudden whiff of a cold breeze.

"All your pathetic bootlickers should see you now. How I have killed you like a loser you truly are, here on your knees before me."

Harry repaid his scornful expression and managed to get up and raise the wand as well.

"First, Riddle ... hic ... first you shall know that I no longer have pathetic bootlickers. Everyone reading The Daily Prophet knows about it. But neither do you, right? Second, I never give up and I will ... hic ... duel with you right know."

Voldemort cackled again, playing with his magical instrument.

"Drunk and alone, Potter? Look around yourself. Do you see anyone coming to help you?"

Harry managed to escape Voldemort's burning eyes and casted a quick glance around the place. Somewhere in the back of his mind he wondered what this place was. There were no buildings, no habitation - only high white rocks all around towering up to the night sky. It looked like a lonely quarry, he thought. Harry felt a short thrill of fear, but the effect of whiskey in his veins quickly damped it down.

"I don't need anyone's help!" he growled, pointing the wand towards his nemesis.

The Dark Lord patiently waited, not willing to make a hasty decision leading to another failure.

But Harry refused to hesitate another second.

"_Expedarmus!"_ he shouted resolutely --- and to his utmost embarrassment nothing happened.

Voldemort's high cold laugh resonated among the rock faces.

"I mean ... hic ... _Expelarismus_!" Harry yelped, his cheeks burning.

Once again, nothing happened.

Voldemort's spindly arms hugged his tiny ribcage, to prevent bursting in laughter. Finally he caught his breath.

"You're so pathetic, Potter. Even the first year would cast it better. I'm almost humiliated I have to kill you now."

"_Expelliarmus!"_ Harry roared, but the Dark Lord elegantly rebound the curse and Harry found himself on the ground, disarmed and defenseless.

Voldemort long claws spasmodically constricted his wand and Harry fuzzily saw how a torrent of yellow sparkles rushed out of its tip. The Dark Lord moaned and raised hands above his head. His face shined with a maniacal delight.

"You've served me well, Potter. You made me a true master of the Elder Wand at last!"

Harry gasped for breath. His muddy mind slowly began to realize what has happened.

"Damn it!" he growled.

"How could I..." he began, but a soft snapping sound stopped his babble.

The air was oversaturated with magic bursting out of the man in front of him.

Snap. Snap.

"Revenge is so sweet! And now get ready for your death, Potter!" Voldemort cried in ecstasy, oblivious to anything but his power, as he leveled the Elder Wand at the youngster.

Snap. Snap. Snap.

Crack.

"Don't you hear ... hic ... that weird sound?" Harry asked confused, looking around, his sloshed mind not allowing him to be distinctively intimidated by Voldemort's threat.

The Dark Lord roared in fury, green light already forming on the tip of the Deathstick.

"AVADA..."

The fact whether or not he finished the curse was no longer Harry's most acute problem. A deafening explosion paralyzed his senses and the last thing he remembered was a windblast of dust and rubble hitting him hard and then the ground under him moving, sagging and huge boulders falling from the sky to bury him forever. Finally everything covered in darkness.

_**R & R**_

**Author's note:** Like it, dislike it, intriguing or boring - funny or completely crazy? Please tell me what you think.


	5. To the cave, part 2

**To the cave**

**Part 2**

"Ouch," Harry groaned feebly and tried to move. His whole body was numb and hurt, but worst of all was the unbearable headache making his brain boil inside his skull. The absolute darkness around him was pleasant at first, as the buzzing sound in his ears warned him that if he could see, everything would certainly be spinning around like a roundabout. Suddenly, he realized that something was stabbing him painfully under his left eye. Growling quietly he touched the sore area. A viscous liquid smeared over his fingers, sticking them together.

He swore breathlessly and wiped the blood away before he moved the hand further up to find a sharp splinter sticking out of his skin. He carefully pulled it out of the wound, threw it away and then his fingers quickly checked his glasses. Only the right lens stayed inside the frame. Harry sighed and rubbed his temples to ease the pain, but the expected relief didn't come so he focused on checking his arms, torso and legs instead. Soon enough he realized that his right ankle was stuck between stones. Blindly, he groped in the dark and pushed the rubble he felt under his hands aside. Once he was free, he tried to flex the joints and stretch the muscles to judge the damage done. It hurt badly, but as all his limbs were in the right places and not all around the room, Harry thought he should be thankful.

After this short check-up Harry gave himself a whole minute to recuperate and remember the previous events, but it was exhausting to try and focus his thoughts when he was in pain, thirsty and completely worn out. He couldn't remember a hangover like this in a very long time. Recalling his last relatively clear moments, Harry had to wonder what happened to him and where was Voldemort now. Because as long as he still lives (and he didn't doubt it because of the pain), the Dark Lord must be in serious trouble. Not that he really cared.

Harry decided it was right time to start to pay more attention to his surroundings. He had to use his hands, as his eyes simply didn't see anything, but everywhere he reached, he could only feel cold stones or miry sand. After several minutes of straying in the dark he started to panic. It seemed that he was buried under ground in some unknown place, without his wand or any chance of a rescue. Maybe Voldemort did it for a purpose, to make him suffer endlessly before he died.

"No!"

The muffled enraged scream didn't escape his mouth. Harry froze and listened carefully. He heard another sound coming from behind the heap of stones he was sitting on. He spun around and began to throw them away frantically and before long a soft, glittering light came through the gaps between boulders. Harry's heart jumped in his chest. Freedom seemed to be so close! Finally he enlarged the hole enough so he could squeeze himself through it.

He fell into a mild light and with immense disillusionment, he realized that there was no sky above him. It looked like a small cave, but the place itself wasn't important once he realized he wasn't alone. The man, who was sitting in the middle, on a rather large piece of a rock, keeping his head propped in his folded spidery hands, was undoubtedly also the source of the soft greenish illumination. There was no gash on the surface, no apparent way outside this prison, only his murderous companion sitting there, ignoring him.

Voldemort was silent, his back turned towards Potter and though he must have known about his presence, he decided to take no notice of him for a while. But as Harry refused to move or speak, he finally turned halfway to look over his shoulder and seethed rabidly.

"Potter!"

His breath was wheezy and the tone of his voice cold and bitter.

"I thought for a moment that my life couldn't get any worse, but no, I was wrong, because obviously you are _still_ ALIVE!"

After a moment something shifted behind him and Harry slowly came along the wall to stand in front of him.

"I could say the same," the raven-haired man uttered.

Voldemort unhurriedly raised his head to look up at him, while his arms glided downwards to curl around his knees.

Harry gasped in surprise.

The Dark Lord was injured. The evil freak was bleeding. It was so shocking to see Voldemort, a monster who claimed to be immortal and invincible, shed the same blood as anyone else. Harry blinked. Next to the deep sanguine scratches on the Dark Lord's left cheek, he also saw some blisters and burns.

"What are you staring at, Potter?"

"Nothing."

His eyes quickly left Voldemort's face and roamed over the skinny frame to search for a wand. As expected, he found nothing. Voldemort was wrapped into his smudged black cloak, hugging his knees tightly to his chest as if he was very cold. His left hand, where he usually held his lethal weapon, was empty and bleeding as well. Otherwise he looked almost unharmed.

Harry slowly propped his back against the rock and wiped away the blood, which still leaked between his eyelids. Soon the silence turned very awkward. He expected Voldemort to attack him any moment and Harry alone had to fight against his own urges to throttle the bastard until he breathed for the last time. Speaking could make the situation a little more bearable.

"What happened?" he asked casually, straightening his sore shoulders.

A silent hiss warned him, that Voldemort is far from sharing a pleasant conversation.

Harry licked his dry lips.

"Guess twice Potter," the Dark Lord snarled, revealing his slightly pointed teeth.

"Messed up the curse?" Harry scoffed only to instinctively crouch down as Voldemort's movement indicated that he barely stopped a homicidal assault.

"Okay," Harry went on. "Let me think ... hmm ... it didn't go according to your plan. That means someone had to interfere..." he left the sentence incomplete waiting for his snake-like companion to speak.

The other man only glared at him, completely rigid and silent and when Harry finally gave up hearing the answer, the Dark Lord suddenly hissed in a freezing tone.

"Muggles!"

Harry couldn't help but goggle at him.

"What?-!"

Voldemort's face contorted in rage.

"I said muggles, Potter. Are you dumb or deaf? Both most likely."

Harry ignored the scornful remark.

"How could muggles stop the great Dark Lord in the moment of his dreamed-of victory?"

Voldemort quickly swept his fingers over the deepest scratch on his face. Once he spoke, his cold voice was so very quiet that Harry had to stop breathing to catch what he was saying.

"There was some ... powerful explosive device I didn't count on," he muttered to himself, his eyes momentarily distracted. "I checked up everything I could think of. I wanted to make it perfect. Not a single human being should get there without me knowing about them. No magic could be performed without me being informed and yet ... muggles somehow managed to set a trap..."

He paused abruptly, glaring at Potter as if he considered the option of Harry being involved. Fortunately, the young man had no idea of what Voldemort was thinking as he'd already been searching for some logical explanation.

"Muggles could hardly booby trap you. We were – or we still are – in a quarry, right? Then you should know that quarries are usually full of explosives. Playing with magic here could hardly lead to a different result," he mocked with pleasure.

But then he suddenly remembered the soft snapping sound before the explosion.

"Detonators," Harry mumbled quietly. "They are electric devices and as you surely know, electricity greatly interferes with magic. I think I even heard them switch on."

Voldemort rose to his feet and started to pace the room in circles, avoiding Potter as much as he could.

"How could I know about this?" he hissed, enraged, apparently only for himself.

He gritted his teeth emitting a screeching noise.

"I am not a filthy muggle miner!"

Harry's lips twitched imperceptibly. Oh yes, Voldemort covered in dust and dirt, with several holes in his royal robes appeared to be more of a miner than the Dark Lord he actually was.

"But this is not significant, Potter," he spoke a little louder, still pacing around and casting surreptitious glances towards the young man. "The important thing is that I'm trapped here with you and, as I did my best to prevent anyone finding you and helping you, I can't easily count on a possibility of someone coming here and rescuing me. It seems that there is no other way for us than to share this gruesome grave together. But don't worry Potter, I'll make absolutely sure you're the first to die."

_**R & R**_

**Author's note: **Reposted. Beta – TheSecretUchiha


	6. The good things and the bad ones as well

**The good things and the bad ones as well**

He knows how to make me feel much better, Harry though dryly as he looked at the prowling Dark Lord. His face curved into a bitter grimace at the sight.

"I see you wish to tempt your fate again. You've tried to kill me many times over, yet it never worked. What makes you think you'll succeed now?"

Voldemort's scorching gaze located Harry's figure in the shadow. He took a few steps nearer, a dangerous grin on his snake-like face. Harry instinctively straightened his shoulders as he saw him looming closer.

"I have no idea what exactly Dumbledore did to you Potter; maybe he personally bathed you in Felix Felicis throughout your school years … or maybe your filthy, muggle mother was addicted to the substance when she nursed you, how could I know? But let me tell you one thing boy, it's over now; all your protectors are dead. I want to see you escape me here."

Harry's hands curled into fists, his face aflame in fury. _Don't let him speak like that_, a tiny voice in his sore head whispered, remarkably akin to Ron's voice. _Just beat that freaky face until his last fritter of spirit is gone for good. He's just a bunch of bones without his wand. Go and get revenge for all the_ _people you loved!_

His muscles contracted, ready to strike. Voldemort waited.

_Don't be stupid! Look at his face. He's plotting something. He's provoking you because he has some advantage you needn't know try to find a way out while you can. _The second voice in his head was Hermione's, reasoning with the first one, trying to calm down his beastly urges.

And Voldemort still stood there, ten feet from him, patient and quiet. The stone he held behind his back grew heavier with every passing second. If Potter is going to prolong the moment before the attack any longer, his smite may lack the verve to break through the brat's scull and that would be very unfortunate.

"You have nothing to say about it, Potter?" he pressed and added the right dose of jeers into the question.

To his ultimate surprise his companion suddenly relaxed, shrugged his shoulders and growled something like 'shut up and sod off.' He watched perplexed as the boy – no, as the man, because Potter evidently wasn't a boy anymore – started to explore every inch of their inadvertent prison. This was very unpleasant. The Dark Lord was almost absolutely sure that Potter would assail him once he mentioned the old fool and his long-dead mudblood mother in one sentence. He was wrong again, but he being mistaken about Potter was, after all, a normal situation, there was no need for him to be upset about it.

He slowly sat down again, observing his enemy. The brat apparently decided to ignore him and that was fine with him; he could play along and wait for another well-timed opportunity to attempt to end his life. He couldn't make the first move, because, as much as he didn't want to admit it, there was an indisputable possibility that he might not win a fight based solely on the sturdiness of their physiques. Yes, Potter must be judged as a significant threat as he was no longer a poor, tiny weakling. If this man was keen to try, he could seriously hurt him and Voldemort knew without any doubt that his enemy was far more than willing. Potter's muscular chest – under that ridiculous, brown pullover with a big H in the middle – is certainly a source of a raw physical strength. It makes no odds that Voldemort is more than a head taller, possibly faster, considerably more trained and disciplined, because compared to this well-built body he still stands a weak chance.

Besides, he didn't feel well. One or two bones in his left hand were broken and there was a severe pain in his left side, right under the ribcage, warning him that he might have some internal injury. The conclusion was simple. If he wanted to kill Potter, he needed some advantage, thus he must set a trap.

He sighed and rubbed his bony shoulders. If only he wasn't freezing and have some spare energy to do more productive stuff than keeping his body reasonably warm.

It must have been several hours since Harry decided to ignore his dangerous companion. During the time he realized his watch was broken, so there was no way for him to measure the duration of his life sentence. Maybe it was a good thing. Furthermore, he wasn't even thirsty anymore. Recently, water started to soak cave's walls and soon trickled down from several cracks in the ceiling. Those soft dripping sounds, which disturbed the insufferable silence, were the last positive he could think of.

On the other hand, there were many bad things making Harry's life leastwise complicated. First, he started to be hungry. As soon as he realized that the fish and chips he had for a late lunch were most likely the last meal he'll ever eat, he began to feel seriously depressed. Hunger was his first true nightmare and sometimes Harry used to wonder, whether Voldemort in his dream threatening him to kill him was worse than uncle Vernon shouting that he won't get a dinner tonight.

Second, he was incredibly exhausted. Hours ago he found a slot in the wall, which was wide enough for him to fit in there and he started to scratch the way out. Not that he truly believed that his bare hands could ever channel the way outside, but the crevice continued in the right direction and he had to keep himself preoccupied, so he could forget the lack of food and his drowsiness for awhile. Besides, Harry couldn't simply allow himself to have a rest as long as that evil bastard sitting in the middle of the cave never ceased to observe his every tiniest motion. He afforded himself a quick thought of how it was even possible for anyone to sit for hours without the slightest movement. Maybe the freak was asleep with his eyes opened, he wondered briefly. But then he doubted it. Voldemort shattered his humanity so entirely that Harry was almost sure the monster felt neither starvation, nor weariness.

The unfavourable odds that he would get out of this were the worst thing of all. But Harry managed to pull through so many impasses that he simply refused to give up and wait for death to come. So he found himself another excessive task – find the way out of this hellish confinement. However, he couldn't think of any reasonable plan with his mind clouded by immense fatigue. Once he dragged another lapful of clay out of the slot, he sat down and yawned. Just for a minute, he promised himself and closed his eyes, which he couldn't keep open for any longer. In the following moment he was asleep.

**R & R**

**Author's note: **Reposted. Beta – TheSecretUchiha


	7. Madame Malkin’s handcrafted robes

**Madame Malkin's hand-crafted robes **

**Warning: Violence!**

Harry's sudden motionless was an impulse for Voldemort to get things moving. His spidery fingers briskly found the bottom lap of his clothes and with a forceful tug he ripped it along the gap until a long strip of black cloth lay in his hand. His scorching eyes located Harry's sleeping figure to check whether the sound awoke him. A cruel smile spread over his inhuman face when the young man didn't move. Within few seconds he tied a constricting loop, already enjoying the idea of Potter's helplessness.

Voldemort slowly approached the sleeping man. A sudden sound stopped him, but it was just a silent snore as Harry's chin dropped to his chest.

"I know this is very vile of me, but I am a wicked man, Harry," he whispered almost apologetically, evil grin distorting his face as he cautiously slipped the loop around Potter's neck.

The Dark Lord looked down at his unaware victim, thinking. Few moments later he reached down and carefully removed youngster's spectacles. With another malevolent smirk he placed them under his shoe. A satisfying sound of cracking glass accompanied a forceful press of his sole.

"Blind Potter," he chuckled, seized the empty spectacles frame and put it in his trouser pocket as a victorious booty.

Once again he looked down at the young man and saw a pair of sleepy green eyes staring up at him in confusion.

"My glasses...?" Harry mumbled disoriented, fingers already searching his face.

Voldemort's cold voice trembled with pleasure as he quietly replied.

"Broken. Good you're finally up, cripple. I have the very last surprise ready for you."

"You..." Harry growled rabidly, immediately fully awakened. He could no longer see Voldemort's alien face in detail; there was only a blurred white splotch with two burning spots above him, surrounded by gloom. The Dark Lord's shrill cackle of purest evil made him howl in rage. Without another thought he pounced at the beast only to realize that something painfully constricted his throat.

His lips opened to utter a scream, but no sound left his mouth. The halter on his neck blocked his airways completely, no matter how hard he tried to breathe. Suddenly he felt Voldemort's boot on his chest and the strangling cloth bit even further into his throbbing throat. Harry trashed madly in the deathly constriction, his fingers frantically tried to get under the halter, scratching his skin in the process. His lungs burned horribly and something heavy thudded inside his head. He slowly started to lose consciousness, staring at the blurred laughing visage above him.

"Goodbye, Harry Potter," Voldemort whispered softly and tightened the loop with one last forceful tug.

Crack.

If Harry could see and think, he would be amused by the look of utter disbelief written on the Dark Lord's face. He would laugh at Voldemort's intent stare at the loose end of the silky halter hanging in his hand. But there were other things on Harry's mind, which he intended to proceed immediately.

Voldemort on the other hand tried to quickly comprehend the situation. It was evident that the luxury cloth couldn't take the stress any longer and ripped in two pieces. If he could ever get outside this cave, he would definitely pay a visit to Madam Malkin in person to make a claim.

BANG!

Voldemort was so mesmerized that he didn't even see the first fist coming. As a result of the impact, his skinny body shortly staggered and collapsed on miry ground. He painfully groaned and spat out the blood from his bitten tongue. It hurt as if his jaw was shattered into thousand pieces.

"Potter!" he wheezed when the second fist landed on his skeletal chin from the other side. The gasping brat was above him, his throat bleeding, but he seemed to be more vital than ever. Harry's furious grimace left no doubt that he wished nothing more than to repay the Dark Lord's 'favor'.

Another stroke, but this time it was a kick between his ribs and it made Voldemort shriek in pain aloud. The Dark Lord gathered all his energy and driven by his self-preservation he pounced at the attacker, trying to claw his eyes out and bite his neck through. Harry's physical strength however soon overpowered him and he was wildly pushed away.

But Voldemort didn't give up easily. He grabbed Potter's head, forcing him to look directly into his merciless eyes and suddenly Harry was in immense pain, almost as bad as Cruciatus. It was the young man's knee shoved in his foe's stomach what ended the torture. The Dark Lord's knees buckled, sending him to the ground once again. Even though Harry couldn't see the howling man properly, it took him only seconds to snatch the skeletal body and slam it into the rock behind and beat that inhuman face until it was no longer pallid, but covered in blood and his own fingers were so sore that he could hardly touch them. To his utmost disappointment Voldemort still moved when he finally let him sink to the dirt. Moreover, he unsuccessfully tried to get up again.

"Kick the bucket, you beast!"

Harry furiously spat blood from his ruptured lower lip. He covered his aching throat by one hand, while the other braced him against the wall for balance as he stepped on the Dark Lord's long neck with the intention to break it.

Voldemort's cold fingers grasped his ankle, but they lacked the power to shove him off.

"Potter..." Voldemort wheezed; his eyes full of panic, which Harry couldn't see.

"Don't..." he choked when the young man pressed harder.

Harry managed to calm his frantic breath enough to ask a fiery question.

"Why, Riddle? Tell me _one_ _fucking_ reason why I shouldn't do it right now!"

A poor rattling sound was the only answer.

"You have nothing, right?-! Nothing!" he shrieked, fury not leaving him by far.

The clammy digits curled around his shoe, moved it little aside and the Dark Lord groaned weakly as some air entered his tortured lungs.

"Do you really think ... you have any chance ... to get out of here ... when there'll be no light?" he rasped out.

Harry stared at the white-red stain, which happened to be Voldemort's face, hesitating for the first time. He took a deep breath and then another one.

"It's worth consideration, I suppose," he admitted after several seconds.

"But you don't need to know my decision." And with the last smite he sent Voldemort's stricken body and mind into oblivion.

_**R & R**_


	8. Return of the toad

**Return of the toad**

"Free of all charges."

Dolores Jane Umbridge stood before a large gilt mirror, her lumpy face curved into something what looked like a satisfied expression. Actually, her visage would be an embodiment of happiness, if her slack facial muscles still worked properly.

"Free of all charges," her girlish voice sang again as she rearranged an awful pink ribbon under her thick neck. Her stubby fingers briefly touched a rosy hairband in her mousy brown hair, then smoothed all the way down of her favorite fluffy pink cardigan covering her robes.

"Perfect," she whispered and reached down to open a dressing table. Her hand slipped in a drawer and seized a heavy golden locket.

"Hello, my little treasure," she twittered lovingly when she placed the artifact on her rather large bosom. "I need you again, my flashy proof of blood purity."

Nothing could spoil her high spirit tonight, she thought as she sat in an unreasonably small gaudy armchair, taking a small porcelain cup of sugary tea.

She slurped the hot beverage and closed her eyes, enjoying the luxury experience.

Soon, very soon she will have everything she has ever desired. One would say she is too lucky, but no, she knew better. Loyalty, diligence, enthusiasm and blood purity were the only things which really mattered if someone wanted to get a job as a government official. Now, when her criminal record was blank again, nothing stood in her way. It's only a question of time before she has her previous influence, power and control.

That's what she really loved.

Power. Control.

How beautifully those words roll on the tongue. They're also very sweet – exactly like the cup of tea she's drinking.

Dolores licked her lips and looked up at a golden wall clock.

It's almost time for him to come.

Her secret savior. She giggled happily. She had no idea of the man's identity, but it didn't bother her too much. First she saw him four moths ago. He came to her hearing, his face covered by a black cape, his voice low and quiet. He brought all the evidence proving her innocence (she giggled at the thought again) and disappeared. Dolores was sure no one put her under Imperius Curse when she was a Head of the Registration Commission; it was her own initiative to torture muggleborns. However, she did not protest when he declared otherwise. Shortly afterward she was released from prison, free of all charges and her career got a new speed. Dolores didn't doubt he was the reason. And now, she is going to see him at last. He sent her a letter where he demanded to meet her and discuss something important. She was nervous, yet eager and every minute seemed to be longer than the previous one.

Finally the doorbell rang and she jumped clumsily out of her armchair and barked an order at her house-elf to go and invite him in.

She took a deep breath and put on a sly smile and when the door to her room opened, she spoke in the most graceful manner.

"Welcome."

*******

_Several hours later_

"You can't be serious, Minister."

A young bushy-haired woman leaned forward in a chair over neatly organized papers on the polished table in Minister's office. She looked tired at first sight, there were deep purple circles under her warm brown eyes, but vitality was still gushing out of her pose as she fisted several parchments and slammed them against the desktop. A ginger-haired youngster slowly dozing off by her left side jumped at the sound, looking wildly around. Once he realized that he's still in the office he stifled a yawn and stabbed the man, who sat across from him, by a penetrating gaze.

"Are you trying to tell us that even after 22 hours of searching you still have no idea where Harry is?-!"

Kingsley Shacklebolt sighed and rubbed his temples in a slow motion.

"Hermione," he began, "please, you must understand. The whole Department of Magical Law Enforcement is working hard to find him, that's all I can do for now. Unfortunately, Harry's absence is not my biggest problem at the moment so if you…"

"With all the respect, Minister, what do you mean by saying that Harry's absence is not your biggest problem?-!" The young man gasped astounded and leaned forward as well.

"Have you even considered the fact that we have no chance to defeat You-Know-Who without him? Harry went to face his personal nightmare to save us all, he might be even dead by now…" His voice wavered as he said it aloud, but found strength to continue, "and all you say is that it is not your problem?-!"

"Calm down, Ron," Hermione whispered and laid her hand on his forearm in a soothing gesture. Ron glimpsed at her, but shut his mouth and sat back in the chair.

"Can we ask Minister, what's happening? What's the reason that you can't solely focus on searching for Harry?"

Kingsley carefully dried several drops of sweat on his forehead into a small hanky. His head was turned towards the window, purposely avoiding Hermione's stare.

"There's a pending investigation concerning my person…" he began quietly.

Hermione and Ron exchanged a brief glance.

"…in the matter of misuse of my executive power. I'm accused of unlawful favoritism of muggleborn wizards and witches during selection procedures for several distinguished posts at the Ministry. Until yesterday I thought it's just rubbish. Today, however, this unimportant trifle turned into a serious matter. It seems to me that there are still some people, even some members of the Wizengamot, who have a connection to a 'certain' Dark Lord. But the biggest problem is that the most influential pureblood families think that the war ended badly and my politics of peaceful coexistence with muggleborn magicians is destructive for our society. They talk of disaster, nothing less. And they have a support, even though the Daily Prophet does not inform about it. It's a dangerous situation, because the threat of the civil war is still up to date. I'm afraid that my resignation would only hasten the process."

Grim silence lingered in the room for almost a minute. Finally Hermione spoke quietly.

"We had no idea the situation is so bad. But Minister, it's obvious that Voldemort is behind this." Ron jumped slightly in the chair after hearing the name. "As long as he lives, as long as there is still a possibility of his return, his followers – even the secret ones – will not stop their efforts to destroy the peace."

Hermione suddenly stood up, started to pace the room, making plans aloud. "It quite clear, isn't it? First, we must find Harry and save him. Second, we must convince him to talk in public, because people still believe in him, they will listen to him. They must be warned about the danger. Third, we must get rid of Voldemort once and for all..."

For the first time since Ron and Hermione entered his office they saw Minister smile.

"You'd be a supreme leader, Ms. Granger. There are at least three Departments, which, I can say, require your immediate leadership."

Ron chuckled and Hermione's lips twitched as well as she recognized Shacklebolt's bitter mirth.

However, before she could reply the mahogany door behind them burst open and soon afterwards the room was filled by people.

"This is the final proof. I hope you've heard it all," said a raspy voice of a tall slim hooded figure, which emerged from the crowd.

Hermione blinked once, twice … she didn't know the hooded man, but if her sight was correct she just identified Umbridge standing right behind him, looking extremely pleased and content.

Shacklebolt was in the second on his feet.

"What's going on? What are you doing in my office!-?"

A short man with a long grayish beard stepped forward and rubbed his hands. Hermione recognized him. It was Caspar Crouch, the older brother of Bartemius Crouch Sr., who started his career soon after the death of his more famous brother. He worked for Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes and he was also one of the prominent members of Wizengamot, she remembered. He looked at her and wrinkled his nose as if he saw something filthy. But then his glassy eyes located Minister's robust form behind the table and spoke to him.

"Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt, by deputy of the highest inspection of Wizengamot I must hereby inform you of the request of your resignation from office for unspecified time to investigate your possible illegal activities. Here is the letter." He struggled for a moment to pull an officially looking envelope out of his pocket. Minister took it wordlessly, broke the seal and started to read.

Hermione felt creepy coldness of fear slowly surrounding her. Something just wasn't right. She noticed Ron looked as desperate as she felt. Her eyes glimpsed over the faces, some of them were familiar, some of them less and there were also several ones she'd never seen before. She stopped again by the cloaked man, then Umbridge and also Narcissa Malfoy who tried to disappear in the crowd. Rita Skeeter was making notes in the corner and the scraping of her Quick-Quotes Quill against the parchment was the only sound breaking the heavy silence.

Once Kingsley finished the letter; he folded it back into the envelope and finally looked up.

"If the honorable members of Wizengamot require my resignation, I will of course resign," he said quietly.

"Minister…" Hermione whispered and immediately regretted it as she felt everyone's stare in her back.

Shacklebolt shook his head and turned towards her when he was passing her.

"It's all right Hermione," he said quietly.

But his expression said otherwise.

_**R & R**_

**Author's note: **Again, I'm sorry for mistakes (which are surely present), the chapter is not betaed. Don't forget to leave a review! Thanks XD


	9. Trapped

**Trapped**

Harry had no idea how long he slept. Honestly, he wouldn't mind a few more hours, but his basic urges forced him to get up and trudge along the wall to a distant corner. After he was done he washed his hands, face and sore neck in a stream of cold water running from the ceiling and took several gulps of bitter liquid. His stomach made a hungry sound in protest.

"Some bacon and eggs would be much better," he sighed and stretched his stiff limbs. He was quite cold, though he wore fairly warm clothes. He rubbed his arms to quicken the blood circulation and looked around the dark space. The light was too faint even for healthy eyesight - he barely saw his own fingers right in front of the face. On the way back to his 'working slot' how he called it, he twice stumbled over the stones and once dropped to his knees. Harry fumed quietly. Everything was only that snaky bastard's fault, he thought.

After he had knocked him out, the light drastically dimmed. For a short moment he seriously thought Voldemort died.

It was rather questionable whether the thought of his deceased nemesis disturbed him or pleased him. But as long as he refused to stick in this dreadful cavern forever, he knew he must learn to accept the fact that he needs the Dark Lord alive and he should be gratified that Riddle keeps on breathing.

He didn't feel safe though. Once he had shackled Voldemort's unconscious body with the halter still hanging around his neck, he decided to ignore him as much as possible. He had no intention to risk his life again and having the Dark Lord all tied up gave him a privilege of peaceful rest. Again, he stayed calm only until he imagined how little trouble Voldemort would have to free himself once he regained consciousness. Such a simple piece of cloth couldn't keep that evil wizard trapped forever, could it?

Harry stopped staring into the dark slot and looked over his shoulder. It was extremely irritating to work with his back exposed to the cave. Darkness, hunger and ultimate stress made his imagination work in vivid ways. Soon he realized that the most taxing was fact that Riddle remained dreadfully quiet as if comatose due to some serious injury. The thought that he could have done something like this, even to a monster like Voldemort, made Harry shudder. He wasn't truly concerned about him for obvious reasons; merely the situation of being with his corpse in this dark cave was far more than he could possibly bear. He knew Dumbledore would think different; he would say that there is nothing frightening about dead bodies and darkness. Harry, of course, couldn't simply agree. These thoughts brought him back to the last journey he accomplished with the Headmaster and it took him long minutes of an exhaustive effort before he forced images of bloodthirsty Inferi out of his head.

Harry sighed loudly and massaged his forehead. It was without question that he'll go mad, if he stays imprisoned with the Dark Lord, yet spending the same time all alone in the dark with a corpse would make the process go even faster. Shocked beyond any measure he realized for the first time that he regularly wished to talk to Riddle and share insufferable conversation.

Soon he became tired of his disturbing thoughts and tried to focus at the mortising instead, but it wasn't very helpful. When he dropped the stone he used as a gouge for a third time over due to digging into the rock instead of sediments, Harry cursed silently and gave up those vain efforts. He needed light and he couldn't get it without Voldemort being alert. There was no way around it – he has to attend his captive. There was no reason left to keep his safe distance for any longer, as otherwise he could do nothing at all.

"Okay, let's get over with this," he encouraged himself and turned to face the cavern. The darkness seemed to deepen as he moved further from the walls and before long he had to get on all fours as he had no idea where he was going and he would prefer not to tread on the Dark Lord. Following fruitless straying in shadows was very dispiriting, quickly getting on Harry's tensed nerves.

"Where are you, Lord Noseless?"

Harry hoped to receive any kind of reaction. He wouldn't even mind a furious one; however, silence has been the only answer. Disappointed, he reached for another shade, prepared to feel a hard stone under his palm. Only he touched something soft and snatched his hand back as if he put it into a heap of slugs.

He froze completely, waiting for Voldemort to speak. When a minute went by and he saw, heard, or felt no response, he took a deep breath and slowly placed his palm back, feeling a silky fabric under his questing fingers.

"Voldemort?"

Silence.

Harry gulped nervously and carefully groped the Dark Lord's robes, blindly searching for his hands. Surprisingly, he found him still firmly tied up. There were no signs that the sorcerer tried to free himself, leading Harry to the only rational conclusion. Voldemort has not even once regained consciousness. It was a fairly grave situation. Harry quickly reached for Riddle's wrists to feel for his heartbeat, but his own numb, chilly fingers failed to catch anything.

"Maybe you don't have a heart anymore, do you Riddle? I mean you're like that warlock from the Tales."

Moving up to his neck, he pressed his digits to the hollow under Voldemort's jaw.

He found no life signs either.

"Dammit!"

Harry quickly fisted the soft cloth on the Dark Lord's shoulders to shake him properly.

"Wake up, Riddle! Tell Lucifer that he has to wait for you a little longer. You mustn't die now! Your timing is dreadful!"

No reaction.

"Don't do this to me, asshole! Wake up!"

Harry slapped the pale, dirty face sharply.

"Wake up!"

Another slap.

"WAKE UP!"

No reaction.

Harry breathed heavily, overwhelmed by his fear.

"What's wrong with you? I couldn't possibly hurt you so much. Hell, I don't know what to do! I'm not a Healer!"

For the first time desperation could be heard in Harry's voice. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to compose himself.

As long as there was still some light around, he couldn't be completely gone yet, he reasoned. His fingers, warmed from a previous adrenaline rush, touched Voldemort's face again. Once his palm went over Riddle's mouth and nostrils, he felt a shallow respiration. Surprisingly intense relief flooded his body. Yet, before he moved away, he noticed one more thing worth the attention.

"Your skin is so chilly… Could it be the reason?"

Harry forcefully suppressed a sudden nausea caused by his empty stomach and tried to see things straight again. Voldemort was dressed in robes which could hardly keep anyone warm and Harry failed to understand why he decided to wear such useless clothes, especially during this unusually cold winter. Even the noble cloak seemed to have only one purpose - to look impressive.

From the other point of view, Voldemort isn't just anyone. He is a dark lord and he surely has his own magical ways keeping him warm. Moreover, heavy and restrictive robes might be a significant disadvantage, especially when he planned a mortal combat with his sworn enemy. Obviously, he didn't expect losing his wand, or – God forbid it – being completely defenseless in the presence of the aforesaid foe.

Harry smiled bitterly. Yes, that would explain many things. If he was right, Voldemort was slowly freezing to death.

It was only a matter of a short time before a crucial question formed in his head.

What the hell he was supposed to do about it?

His grin froze in place.

Naturally, if someone is hypothermic, keep that person warm. But what to do if said person is your nemesis, yet you need him alive for your own survival? What to do when the only source of warmth is your body heat?

And Harry suddenly felt the only possible thing anyone in his situation could feel.

He was completely and thoroughly sick.

_**R & R**_

**Author's note:** Sorry, Harry. Things start to get interesting, right? ;-)


	10. Rest in peace

**Rest in p****eace **

After several minutes of whining and complaining, Harry realized self-pity was not going to help him.

"I forswear, if I survive this, I'll ask Hermione to _obliviate_ me entirely," he muttered to himself, gathering his Gryffindor's bravery to take the Dark Lord into his arms.

"You don't have to give me any more reasons to hate you, Riddle. I think that my current hatred is far more than sufficient," he complained to his unconscious companion as he slowly reached down to the pale face. His trembling fingers curled around the back of Voldemort's neck, feeling the touch of clammy skin against his own. Repulsed, Harry cursed and jerked away as if the Dark Lord was leprous. Quickly, he rubbed his hand against the rough denim of his trousers.

"This is disgusting," he growled, blindly found the Dark Lord's cape and pulled it over.

"You're lucky that my scar no longer hurt me in your presence. Otherwise I would leave you right where you are, Riddle."

He fisted the black robes again and drew Voldemort's limp body upwards until his cheek rested on his shoulder.

After several rearrangements Harry decided that the most comfortable position is with the Dark Lord sitting between his crossed legs, leaning against him. But nothing could prepare him for the embarrassment he felt once he wrapped his arms around the gaunt body. The only thing keeping him from kicking the man away was the fact that Voldemort would be mortified hundred times more, if he was aware of their position.

Luckily for Riddle, Harry's painfully growling stomach was enough distraction. The young man soon forgot his shame and started fantasying about a huge steak with roasted potatoes topped by loads of ketchup. His imagination worked so vividly that he could almost smell the food's flavor.

Another spasm of his empty stomach made him howl in pain.

"Why do I torture myself?" he moaned weakly.

The aroma of the food was gone, replaced by another fragrance.

Harry sniffed to find the source. It was nothing he could easily identify. Beside the intense stink of blood and dirt he also detected a trace of something else in the air. Getting the idea, he bent his head to the cold body in his arms. He made a disgusted grimace, though the slight scent he smelled wasn't in fact repulsive.

His discomfort only supported the strong aversion he felt towards his nemesis.

"How I loathe you, Riddle," he whispered virulently.

"See what you force me to do, even when you are a lifeless trunk. You … infernal half-breed."

Harry snorted quietly when he felt no contraction in the relaxed body.

"I suppose no one has ever called you half-breed Riddle."

This was positively distracting. Harry felt a sudden rush of something akin to childish joy.

"Hmm … I wonder … you always make smart-ass comments about my mum. But she was a witch at least. Both my parents were great magicians. I can hardly say the same about you."

His lips curved slightly at the thought.

"The only magic your father did was bewitching your poor mother. And he was also quite good in stampede and disappearing, I suppose."

Harry suddenly paused and shook his head as if he wanted to get rid of something.

"Er … strange … why did I say such low things aloud? This is not my style, but yours Riddle; it must be the insufferable hunger. It definitely starts to mess with my mind."

His companion remained impassive and Harry slowly started to feel unstrained.

Besides, talking made him feel better, so he went on.

"Though - don't you find it completely absurd? The Dark Lord, who proclaimed the blood purity above all, has in the end somewhat lower blood status than his enemy, who professes a direct opposite? Furthermore, don't you find entirely ironic, that we, mortal enemies, are as a matter of fact distant relatives?"

This time Harry found strength to laugh aloud.

"Weeks ago I accidentally realized, that I still speak Parseltongue. I can hardly describe the shock I felt in the moment. I couldn't sort it out. I was horror-struck by the thought that there is still some little part of you inside me, but Hermione only smirked at my fears and said: 'Oh, Harry, I guess it must be hard for you to accept that all pureblood families in England are somehow related. It seems that you two share this ability not because of some form of obsession, but simply due to distant relation.'

Harry shrugged imperceptibly, looking at the indistinct outline of the white snake-like face, half covered by the cape.

"It is hard for me to accept, I admit," he muttered.

"What do you think?"

Silence.

"You agree, I see. It's quite easy to talk to you when you are so unresponsive. You should be like this more often, I think."

Harry wanted to carry on his monologue, but the gaunt ribcage pressed against his body suddenly expanded as Voldemort took in a deep breath. For what seemed to be an endless moment Harry awaited a furious reaction for his unfair instigation, but the tensed instant passed away and the bony chest slowly relaxed again. The Dark Lord sighed quietly and continued in his imperceptible breathing.

"Obviously still alive," Harry mumbled quietly, once he was completely sure Voldemort showed no other signs of being awake.

However, he no longer wished to speak about such delicate topics, for he's got no proof Voldemort didn't hear what he had said before and frankly, Harry didn't really want to confront the Dark Lord again. His body was still sore from their last disagreement.

So he closed his eyes and tried to rest quietly for a short while. It was rather easy as the close presence of the other helped to create pleasant warmth spreading through his tired limbs. Surprisingly comfortable feeling diminished a sensation of danger and soon Harry fell asleep with the Dark Lord in his arms.

*****

_He walked through the __overcrowded Great Hall in Hogwarts. Everyone around was celebrating, drinking, eating and smiling; only he halted in the middle unnoticed. He was starving, but every time he reached for a dishful of appetizing delicatessen, someone took it from him. The faster he snatched at them, the faster they disappeared. He fumed, begged, cursed, but people around merely laughed at his desperation. Finally he grasped a plate with a piece of well-done turkey, but a ginger boy from the other side was trying to wrench it away. _

"_Ron! Let go! You've already eaten!" he cried, but the boy only grinned._

_Harry was furious. _

_He tugged at the plate but it changed its shape under his fingers; it was squirming, trying to slip away. _

"_No … no … NO! Don't!" _

*****

He abruptly awoke, feeling the struggle in his arms halted. After a short recuperation Harry was certain it was just a vivid dream. The reality, however, seemed to be much worse. It definitely wasn't a revived plate with turkey stirring in his arms. The person lying there became motionless. Harry waited to feel him breathing, but the skinny chest against his own didn't move an inch. Obviously, Voldemort had to hold his breath as well.

_He wa__s awake._

The recognition shattered his composure and Harry nervously gulped. He was surprised how loud it sounded.

The hard edge of Voldemort's jaw was still digging him into the collarbone and even through his thick pullover he could feel man's facial muscles gradually tighten, followed by the rest of his body. Soon the Dark Lord was stiff as if petrified. Harry could only wonder whether the reason was shock, anger or repulsion. Finally, after what seemed to be eternity, Voldemort slowly started to breathe again.

Suddenly, those spindly arms moved in a clear attempt to free his tethered hands. Harry swore secretly. Why had he succumbed to the allurement of sleep again, when he should have stayed astir and reach a safe distance once Voldemort recovered? He realized that he has no option, but to move away now.

Taking a deep breath he grasped Voldemort's shoulder, while the other hand sneaked under Riddle's chin to push him away.

"Take your filthy hands off me, Potter!"

The high-pitched voice was so cold and unpleasant that Harry immediately jerked away, stunned.

First, nothing happened, but soon Voldemort raised his head to face Harry squarely.

The intensity of illumination increased and Harry once again saw the blurred visage of his archenemy. The small gap between their faces was far beyond the young man's comfort zone.

"Okay," Harry growled when he composed himself, extremely irritated by their close interaction. "So we stay here hugging each other forever. Is that what you want?" he mocked acidly.

Harry noticed how Voldemort's thin upper lip curved in disdain.

"Your poor mind clearly misunderstood me. I have to repeat myself, then. Get the hell off me, Potter!"

The young man gritted his teeth and fisted his hands as he tried to hold his anger under control.

"How am I supposed to do it, Riddle, when _you _are sitting on _my_ legs!-? Get up first!"

Voldemort responded by a scowl and tugged wildly at his handcuffs, looking daggers at the young man.

"Untie me, brat! Now!"

"Forget it," Harry spat, grabbed the soft fabric on the Dark Lord's shoulders and pushed him off before he could start to protest.

Once he was free, he rose to his feet, ignoring the sudden loss of warmth.

Voldemort stayed apparently calm, though the rage was mounting inside him by every passing second. He wanted to hurt Potter as badly as possible. The fact that he was cold again only supported his violent desires.

Ultimately, wrath found its way to his lips.

"You'll regret this, Potter, once I make you eat your own intestines! You'll regret this, while crying bloody tears; I'll make sure of it! How dare you humiliate me like this! How dare you even touch me, you filthy half-blood!"

His silky cold voice wavered in fury.

"Are you bored, Potter? Am I, Lord Voldemort, a toy of The-Boy-Who-Lived-By-Mistake? Have you decided to play games with me? Let me assure you, this is your last!"

_Crack._

Harry heard the sound somewhere deep within his thoughts.

_He saved__ his life at expense of a huge personal sacrifice and this is his repayment. _

He spun around to see the place where Voldemort's eyes glowed.

"Shut the hell up, Riddle! I've had enough of this," he began dangerously. "So you want me to regret my deeds, don't you? Very well, listen. I feel _so_ bad about helping you, better? Furthermore, I do regret you have no nose I can break now! Satisfied now?"

He took a step closer, ignoring Voldemort's furious hissing.

"Unlike you I am capable of remorse!"

"Potter…"

"I haven't finished yet! You said you'll make me eat my intestines. What a generous offer! I'm so starving I wouldn't mind. Frankly, I'm not far from wondering which part of _your_ body is possibly edible."

This remark left Voldemort staring at him speechless.

Harry regretted he couldn't see his face at the moment. It would be worth it.

He used the pause to take a deep breath instead.

"And concerning my parentage – I hope you realize you're insulting yourself as well. Think what you've said, Riddle. My parents were great Aurors, both. It's you, whose mother was nearly a Squib. It was your father, who had gotten a rash when he heard about magic and wizards!"

The roar which shook the cave was beyond what Harry thought Voldemort is capable to produce. He saw the skinny body bend as a longbow and spring up to feet. He saw him free his tethered hands in one forceful release of magic. The cave walls flashed so intensely that Harry had to screw up his eyes.

He remained unshaken, though.

"Does it hurt to hear the truth?" he asked calmly.

"You've made many grave mistakes Potter, but this is…," Voldemort began in a gravel tone after he calmed his breath a little.

"This is my last. I know. You like this phrase a lot. But I think I've asked something first," Harry interrupted him, absolutely serene. Whether the reason was his hunger or psychical exhaustion, he didn't know and didn't care.

The light slowly dimmed out.

Voldemort pushed himself off the wall, glaring murderously at the young man. The only reason why he hesitated with the attack was the memory of the last one.

"You know nothing of me, Potter. Nothing! How dare you besmirch my mother – the great descendant of Salazar Slytherin!"

Harry shook his head, amazed.

"What illusion are you living in? It's you who seem to know nothing of her!"

"Potter … I warn you … you're very close to make me mad on you … _**here**_."

The last word was whispered and sounded so strangely, but it took only a moment for Harry to recognize Parseltongue.

"Do you?" he held his own.

"She was a great witch," came a short reply with a hint of malice for Harry if disagreed.

"She was nothing but a slave," Harry breathed out, hurt because the only son of Merope Gaunt has never tried to find out her suffering, never really tried to understand her.

Voldemort's thin colorless lips completely disappeared as he pressed them together.

"She was a slave living in a cowshed, tyrannized by her relatives. She was a poor woman, dreaming of love and freedom. She was no doubt a kind woman, but her magical abilities weren't strong enough to help her survive and see her only son grow up."

"Enough!" Voldemort shrieked, trembling with suppressed emotions.

"She'd be surely horrified to see what you've become. That she gave life to a hellraiser."

"Potter…," the Dark Lord seethed in frenzy prowling towards him.

Harry crossed his arms over his chest and snorted quietly.

"Why it has to be me telling you this stuff? You've got all those years to find it out by yourself."

Voldemort suddenly halted and tilted his head to one side, then speaking in that cold eerie voice once again.

"She's dead. What does it matter anymore? On top, why should I even believe to that chit-chat of yours?"

"You don't have to, Riddle, it doesn't matter to me. But I hope you are still sane enough to realize that I've always told you the truth. Besides, this information comes from a very trustful source – from Dumbledore himself. And he did quite a research of your past."

Voldemort sneered in clear annoyance, eyes still narrowed into slits.

"I see. That's what you used to chatter about with your beloved deceased Headmaster. How very flattering."

The irony was seeping from every wizard's word.

"So, have you found a key to my defeat in the past? Maybe some curse of unbreakable luck which I overlooked by mistake?"

Harry involuntarily chuckled. It surprised him as it was rather strange thing to do under such circumstances.

"No … well - I mean, I don't know. But it helped me to confirm one thing for sure. Your 'philosophy of pure blood making a true magician' is completely wrong. How could a poorly talented witch and a man with no magical abilities whatsoever give rise to such a very powerful wizard? If you were right about your theory, you alone shouldn't be able to master any wand at all."

"There are always exceptions…," Voldemort hissed, his red eyes gleaming from the shadow.

"Curiously enough, there are more exceptions than standard instances," Harry protested loudly.

Voldemort suddenly howled in rage and dug his long claws into his bonce in a gesture of absolute frustration.

"Potter! You're still the same idiot! How can you judge me, when you clearly have no idea of what I am pursuing?-! Look at the magical community in Britain and all over the world! We are dying out, because wizards and witches are breeding with muggles and similar vermin! I needn't to explain myself, especially not to you, still I was rather expecting that one day you'll open your blind eyes and see that all I do is trying to stop it! Obviously, I was wrong about you again."

Once Harry heard this, previous fury started to burn his insides again and he cornered the Dark Lord, who guardedly retreated.

"You're trying to stop it, you say, hmm?" he sputtered. "I guess different. If you haven't murdered numerous magicians over the last half of century, I think our little population would be much better off right now!"

The Dark Lord exposed his spear-shaped teeth as his back hit the cave wall.

"Don't tempt me, Potter. Last time someone had courage to question my methods I let him beg three hours for death before I complied."

"Another wizard, right?" Harry fumed, firmly decided not to ask the name of the unfortunate.

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing," Harry snapped, but he knew the Dark Lord got the point.

Voldemort recoiled.

"I'm tired of this silly discussion and of you Potter as well. You'd better leave me alone, before I lose the rest of my patience!"

Harry smirked and slowly took several steps back.

"With pleasure. I'd let you rest in piece forever, if I could," he added, failing to cover his amusement as Voldemort sent him another of his deadly glances.

Finally he turned his attention back to his 'working slot' and started to benefit from the shining walls.

_**R & R**_

**Author's note: **My longest chapter yet, yay! Review, please!


	11. The task

**The task **

**Author's note:**This chapter may be a little confusing, but I hope it will help you when I say that the plot partly refers to the events from the last chapters of DH. You may also feel that the story is getting more and more serious. Yes, it is my intention, but don't worry, the funniest moments are yet to come.

*****

The first rays of morning sun broke through a misty veil and illuminated a dank pavement of the street . The air was cold and smelled after rotting foliage.

A peaceful atmosphere was suddenly unhinged by a loud crack, which resonated among tidy fronts of surrounding houses. Several passers-by looked around, searching for the source, but their interest soon abated as they adjudged the sound to a car backfire. They did not notice a tall figure in strange-looking robes backing quietly into a narrow alley.

Narcissa Malfoy sighed and pressed her trembling lips together. She knew she had to be patient, but the tension was nearly unbearable. Pacing slowly along the fence, she listened carefully to the traffic sounds behind the corner. Her cape hung down, covering her aristocratic face in shadow.

"Draco," she whispered in a feeble voice. Her hands were folded on her bosom as if in a silent prayer.

Soon she heard quick footsteps, someone was quickly approaching her.

Her small, pale hand sneaked inside the long sleeve, firmly grasping the handle of her wand.

"Oh, what a lovely morning! I don't understand how anyone can say that London is a city of bad weather!"

"Hmph."

"Come over here, there is a shortcut."

"I don't think we should…"

_Muggles_, Narcissa thought scornfully and stepped backward. Nevertheless, the young couple who she overheard already turned the corner and the lad walked straight into her. She stumbled and fell rather ungracefully.

"OH! My sincere apologies, ma'am, I didn't see you at all. Are you okay?" he spoke quickly, kneeling by her side.

Narcissa ignored him.

Stupid, feckless muggle-repelling charm was the only thing she could think of as she turned around and tried to get up.

"Let me help you, ma'am," the lad offered, when he saw her difficulties in uprising.

"Get lost you filthy muggle!" she hissed angrily and punched her wand in his neck.

"Huh?"

He stared at her flabbergasted.

"GET LOST!" she spat saliva in his face.

"Come on, Tom," the girl standing beside him spoke, tugging at her boyfriend's arm. "Let's go. Leave her alone. She's a nutcase. Just look at her outfits."

Narcissa watched them walk away while she seriously contemplated cursing them both. Fortunately, her rational side reminded her that she should stay away from any reckless action or conflict situation. Torturing those muggles would only cause her more troubles. The last person she sought to meet today was some diligent Auror sent to investigate the matter.

Finally she rose up, cleaning her robes, thinking once again of her only son.

"Mother?"

She couldn't hold back a yelp of surprise and she spun around to face a slim, blond young man.

All of a sudden he stood before her, her only child, her only hope of future happiness.

"Draco… It's been so long," she breathed out tearfully and reached out to touch son's face.

He turned away slightly.

"Five months," he spoke quietly and nodded. "So it is true. I'm surprised to see you. I didn't really expect to meet you here," he spoke grimly. "Did he tell you that I will come?"

"Yes, I talked to him," she replied, traces of fear in her voice. Tears glittered in her eyes as she stepped closer to take him into her arms.

He didn't protest.

"You look horrible, my child. What did they do to you? They didn't … they didn't turn you into one of them, did they?" she whispered, overwhelming fear in her eyes as she embraced him.

"No," he replied quickly, avoiding her gaze.

His pale skin seems to have almost a wax quality, she thought concerned. He looked extremely tired, exhaustion written on his face, blue circles under his eyes.

"Let's walk," he suggested and Narcissa agreed, watching him apprehensively.

"Who were those people?" he asked matter-of-factly, but his mother didn't buy it.

"Filthy muggles, Draco. Forget them. We need to focus on important things. First, tell me what happened to you."

"I'm alright, mother. Don't worry," he said curtly.

Someone passed them and he watched him suspiciously.

"I hope so," Narcissa whispered, taking his hand, digging her fingernails into his skin. "It's my fault Draco, all of it," she sobbed quietly. "The Dark Lord gave you that horrible task to punish me for my lie and betrayal. He knows very well that my loyalty towards him has never exceeded my desire to protect you."

He stopped short, glancing at her tearful face.

"For your information, mother, I wasn't given the task. I had a choice and I decided to accept it."

Her mouth moved wordlessly as she failed to speak aloud. After some time she found her lost voice.

"Why?" she gasped.

"I had chosen what I thought was the best for us."

He didn't wait for her and she had to catch up with him once she awakened from the stupor.

"You can't be serious Draco. What was the other option? I need to know, tell me," she demanded.

"I can't," he shook his head, refusing to look at her.

Narcissa grasped his arm and forced him to stop. "Now listen, my son. Don't turn away from me. Do not act like the others. I know I'm undesirable person for most of the Death Eaters. But I made my decision and I'm sure it was the right one. I explained you what I did and why. Remember, I gave up everything only for you. I risked too much to ensure that you'll stay alive and now you're telling me that you had willingly accepted a task which can easily cost your life?"

Her voice broke.

"What do you think your father would say about it!?"

"My father is in the prison! If he weren't, he'd be dead!" he spat and wrenched his hand out of her grasp. "He's a Death Eater. He promised his allegiance on the pain of death, just like me! But he did not stand his word and did not fight for the Dark Lord when he needed him most. It's not Dark Lord's intention to spare him, he told me so. And he also told me that you're still alive only because there's no mark on your arm and because I begged for your life so nicely."

Narcissa stood there, shaken.

After a long time she finally spoke.

"I understand now. He told you either to accept the task or watch me die."

It wasn't a question. Draco's lips twitched as he tried to hold his composure.

"Mother, you're speaking nonsense."

She shook her head, more tears escaping corners of her eyes.

"No, sweetheart, I know I'm right. Now listen to me carefully. I want you to go to him and tell him you can't do it anymore. I can take care of myself as long as you are safe." Her voice turned to be low and firm.

He stared at her in a slight shock. Then he slowly shook his head.

"That's completely out of question. I will not put my family into worse misery than it already is. You must understand; the Dark Lord requires new allies as he has lost most of his forces during the last war. Of course it's risky, but much more dangerous is to oppose our Lord's will. Besides the business is almost finished and if succeeded, there is a possibility that the Dark Lord would make an exception and give my father another chance to live. I'm not going to throw that away."

Narcissa took a deep breath.

"Draco, don't be foolish…"

"That's enough, mother. There's no turning back when a new alliance is impendent. All I need to do now is to arrange a meeting for the Leader and the Dark Lord. I need to talk to the Dark Lord, I need to give him a report and yet … ever since I've returned from the Eastern Europe, all my attempts to contact him failed."

A long silence followed before Draco spoke very quietly. "There are rumors that he disappeared again. I've heard that no Death Eater saw him during last three days. The Dark Mark is so faint, mother. Maybe … maybe Potter finally proved to…"

The young man hesitated in the middle of the sentence as if afraid to be heard by wrong ears, although the alley seemed to be empty. Narcissa stroke his shoulder-length blond hair. "There's so much of Lucius in you, darling. Don't be rash in your expectation and judgment like him. Twenty years ago we thought the Dark Lord was gone forever, but he returned. Obviously, he has powers we can't even dream about. Do not repeat the same mistake."

He nodded and took mother's hand into his own, looking into distance.

"We will wait."

*****

A tall hooded man settled himself comfortably on a large white sofa. His keen eyes regarded every detail of a shiny pink office before focusing on a plump person standing at a window-sill. She was bathing in rays of a false sunshine.

"Enjoying your new position, Minister?" he asked in a low voice.

Dolores Umbridge turned away from a huge window placed above all the other windows of the yard of Ministry buildings.

"Tremendously, Leader," she twittered, caressing a golden trim of a table by her stubby finger.

"Excellent," he whispered and hid his long white digits in the sleeves of black velvety robes.

She sat down in her small armchair, slurping a cup of tea, before speaking again.

"Tell me, Leader, why is it me? I feel very obliged, of course, but I must admit that I don't understand it."

She heard him chuckle quietly, but when he spoke, his voice held no amusement.

"You were born for this position, Dolores. You're an archetype of a perfect witch. Powerful, competent and reliable. I believe I can count on you in everything I might require. Our alliance is a first step to build a new world for our people."

Umbridge's face widened into an awful grin.

"I'm so thrilled to participate on this," she sang and leaned towards him over the table. "May I have a private question, Leader?"

She saw him shrug his shoulders imperceptibly.

"I wonder … can I know your name?"

He chuckled again, but more loudly.

"My name is not important. I'm not surprised that you're curious, however. Honestly, I appreciate when people call me simply Leader. If you want to know, it's a bad habit from the country where I come from."

For the first time Umbridge noticed a faint foreign accent in his voice.

"You will learn what I mean soon. After few months you'll be surprised to hear someone call you in a different way than Minister."

He smiled and Dolores caught a glimpse of his teeth even through thick shadows covering his face. For the first time she felt slightly uncomfortable in his presence, but her face still displayed content.

"Surely you're right Leader."

He got up into his full height and straightened his shoulders.

"How's the search for Potter and the Dark Lord going? Did your people find something new?" he asked casually.

Dolores slurped the tea again and replied without much interest.

"I have different priorities. First, I need to prepare a new public announcement. Muggleborns working for Ministry must be immediately suspended. Second, I have an interview with Rita Skeeter and maybe after that…" Her voice faded away. Even though she couldn't see his eyes she felt he's staring at her.

"I need to be informed about the situation immediately," he said and his voice was suddenly very cold. She felt his anger and it only increased her confusion. He had a power to lower the room temperature only by his voice.

"As you wish, Leader," she said, once she composed herself.

The door to her office suddenly opened and a middle-aged woman, who she had never seen before, stepped inside. The person in question ignored her except one sharp nod in her direction before she turned her attention towards the Leader.

"My Eminence, the Council is waiting for you," she said very quietly, but Dolores heard every word.

"I'm on my way," he replied almost inaudibly and looked at Umbridge who watched the woman leave.

"If you excuse me, Minister, I have an urgent appointment. See you later," he said simply and headed outside, but her words stopped him at the doorsill.

"Eminence? Council?" Umbridge no longer tried to hide her puzzlement.

"It's just a bad joke."

And with one last dangerous smile he was gone, leaving the new Minister staring after him, breathless.

Slowly, she fisted her hands. It was really a very bad joke, she wasn't laughing at all. Those uncertain doubts, which had bothered her since the yesterday's nomination, suddenly started to make sense. He wants her position. He's only using her. That's why he set her free. He's not her savior; he doesn't care about her in the slightest. He's someone who desires to reign. That's why he wants everyone to call him Leader or the Eminence! He wants to rule _her_ Ministry! Her body stared to tremble in fury and wide purple stains colored her pale cheeks. She's not going to be his servant, no way! She is the Minister for Magic and he must learn what does it means! Dolores Jane Umbridge is not a person to be played with. She's going to show the whole world that she deserves a respect! Feeling victorious, she smirked secretly and started to write her announcement.


	12. How much costs the big H

**How much costs the big H**

Harry sank to his knees and tried to muffle whimpers of pain. He hoped his companion misheard him; he had no intention to make the Dark Lord's confinement pleasant in any way. He glanced several times in Voldemort's direction but he couldn't say whether the he was being watched or not. It was hopeless; he failed to distinguish more than a blurred outline of a skinny figure against a dim background. However, what he did notice was the lack of Voldemort's interest in him, so he fully cherished a moment of relative privacy. It's a good thing being ignored by a mass murderer, he thought. It was also a great opportunity to take care of his new wounds. Harry's bright green eyes hardly focused on the fuzzy outline of his bleeding fingers and then on oodles of mud, clay and crushed stone, which he had already scraped out of the slot. He wondered briefly whether his laborious work will bear any fruit.

Maybe he made a mistake. Maybe he should have started digging in the next slot.

Or maybe the whole idea wasn't as good as he thought. But he desperately needed to keep himself preoccupied.

Harry let his head fall back against the stone behind him. His thoughts turned towards his friends again as it happened very often lately. He longed for some solace. If only Hermione could be here with him, he thought. She would surely know what to do. Her brilliant mind would give him hundreds of options to ponder about and he'd just have to help her to pick up the right one. Or Ron … Harry had to chuckle about the idea of Ron sitting beside him, moaning in misery. He would have to calm him down, offering possible solutions, forcing his tired brain to think…

However they weren't here. And it was very selfish of him to wish that, Harry realized. That's why he refused their help in the first place, he recalled. No, he must get out of this place alone, as far as Voldemort obviously refuse to do anything about their deplorable situation.

Harry looked at the Dark Lord again. It was his new habit to control him from time to time, mostly to check whether he's not planning his demise again. Harry guessed Voldemort must be deep in thought as he sat absolutely still on his favorite boulder. Of all the things he knew about him, Harry was convinced that the Dark Lord did not give up hope for escape in the slightest. Riddle's gifted intellect surely constructed an ingenious plan, something far beyond Harry's imagination. If only he could look inside his head and see what he's thinking about. Once Harry realized the course of his thoughts, his lips twitched as he restrained an urge to laugh bitterly. It never occurred to him that under some circumstances he may wish to repeat the horrible experience of carrying a part Voldemort's evil personality. He shook his head to get rid of those disturbing thoughts and dipped his hands in a small pond, which formed under his working slot. As he was washing off dirt and blood, he only very briefly wondered where all the water comes from. The flow from several cracks in the ceiling was almost constant, turning the bottom of the cave into a small lake. Harry suppressed a sudden thrill of cold he started to unlace his shoes. Presently, he could climb up the walls of the slot circa ten feet above the level of the cave, but he could only do this barefoot as the wet surface was unimaginably slick.

_Damned limestone, _Harry cursed, pulling down his sweater. It was the only garment he managed to keep relatively dry. He couldn't imagine he would have to sleep in wet clothes. But worse, he couldn't imagine himself asleep with Voldemort around him awake and dangerous as ever.

The only thing keeping him sane was digging into mud, hoping that the next lump of clay would be the last. He rather lived in this illusion then to think about how deep beneath the surface they actually might have been.

Harry climbed up the wall and started to work. He decided not to stop before he sees the blue sky. But his damned leg had to slip as he turned around and he slid down the wall and landed with a yelp in a miry pool at the bottom of the slot.

It was unpleasant, but not as much as the sight before him.

Voldemort stood there, spidery fingers curled around his pullover, looking immensely disgruntled that he was caught in the act.

Harry was at loss for words. His mouth moved idly.

"You're finished quite early today, Potter," the Dark Lord sneered, still latched onto _his_ sweater.

Harry briskly awoke from the stupor.

"Whatthehellyouthinkyouaredoingyousnakylittlethief?-!"

Voldemort sneered in reply, watching him scramble out of water.

Harry's breath came out in short furious gasps.

"How dare you to touch my things, you _freak_?-!"

It was the most improper moment for Harry to visualize uncle Vernon yelling exactly the same thing as he was locking him up in the dark cupboard. Fortunately, Voldemort's voice quickly brought him back to reality.

"You don't need it now, do you?" he said softly paying no heed to the insult. He looked calmly at Potter, as if it was perfectly normal to try to steal someone's clothes.

In response Harry emitted a low beastly growl.

"I warn you Voldemort. Put it back where you took it and get lost. I'm not in mood to argue with you or to suffer your presence in any way!"

The Dark Lord's pale face curved in disapproval. His cat-like eyes flashed dangerously.

"Good," he whispered. "I won't disturb you then. Crawl back into your dirty burrow and leave me alone."

Harry's insides boiled in anger, his hands curled into fists.

"This is my last warning Riddle. Let go off my belongings!"

Harry could swear he saw the Dark Lord shudder imperceptibly. He used a chance and leaned forward to grasp his clothes. To his surprise Voldemort handed it over without any resistance.

He seemed to be completely unimpressed by Potter's actions, flexing sore fingers on the left hand. Harry glared at him, waiting for him to leave, but Voldemort for some reason hesitated. When the silence turned to be obnoxious, Harry sputtered.

"What else do you want from me except of seeing my carcass?"

Anger flashed in those blood-red eyes.

"Your manners are dreadful, Potter, but yes it would be pleasant to see your corpse," he hissed venomously. Harry snorted as if challenging him.

"My manners solely depend on who I speak to. But yours, Riddle, are unworthy of any comment."

Voldemort's sneer slowly faded and soon his face was carefully blank.

"I do not wish to lose my time with you Potter. As a matter of fact, I have a proposition for you. It's something you might find interesting."

Harry bit his lips, then pursed them and finally spoke.

"Seriously, Voldemort, I'm not interested in anything you want to tell me."

He turned around to find some safer hideout for his belongings and to show Voldemort that their conversation was over.

"Don't be childish, Potter," hissed a cruel voice behind him.

Harry glanced back over his shoulder, failing to resist the temptation to reply.

"I'd rather be childish than idiotic and dead. Do you really think that I would willingly participate in whatever game you intend to play with me? Forget it, Riddle. I'm not interested."

He looked back on a promising boulder right behind the entrance into the slot. He could leave his things there, Harry thought, intentionally taking no notice of Voldemort.

"What would you say if I told you that I won't attack you again?"

Harry froze on the spot partly because of what he heard and partly because he felt a cold breath tickling the skin of his ear. In the split second he turned back.

"_What?" _

"You've heard me, Potter. If you fulfill my requirements I can assure you that as long as we stay here I won't try to kill you."

As Harry gaped at him, Voldemort complacence grew. It didn't happen very often that he caught Potter completely unhinged. After a long pause Harry slowly stepped back and asked suspiciously.

"What requirements?"

The Dark Lord grinned mischievously at the young man.

"Finally I have your full attention. Good. First, I require you to stop attacking me as well. Further, you must avoid me as your presence is highly unwelcome. And last ... give me your ... that garment." The long spidery finger pointed at the sweater in Harry's hand.

Voldemort expected many reactions, he was prepared to see anger or refusal, but no, the brat must always do something completely unpredictable.

Potter _laughed_. Voldemort couldn't recall whether he had ever seen anyone so amused in his presence. The sound of a cheerful laughter was something nearly unknown to him. It was loud, extremely irritating and Potter had no obvious intention to stop it. Fortunately, he ran out his breath before the furious Dark Lord could take any action.

"Care to tell me what's so funny?" he seethed.

"No-nothing, except...," Harry coughed to clear his throat and shrugged his shoulders, his lips still twitching.

"I was merely considering your proposition and honestly, for a moment I inclined to agree only to see you wear this." He outstretched the pullover to show Voldemort the big yellow H gracing the chest. He couldn't help but chuckle again as Riddle's anger and disgust leaked through the mask of unconcern.

"It was really funny to hear you say that. I should thank you. I had nearly lost belief that I will ever laugh again. I had no idea you are such a joker."

Harry didn't know why had he decided to make fun of Voldemort, but he was sure he's crossing a thin border of the Dark Lord's self-control. He rather turned to more serious matter.

"Or is there any possibility that you had really thought that I'm so daft to believe in your sincerity? That I would give you my garments to keep the Lordling warm while I would quietly suffer? That I would peacefully go to sleep so you could murder me without any fight?"

They stared at each other and the tension grew until it was almost palpable.

Voldemort finally moved and crossed his arm over the chest.

"What if I am sincere, Potter?" he spoke, his voice silky and calm without any trace of anger.

"Now, don't make me laugh again. I know you lie," Harry accused. "You _always_ do."

"What if I don't, Potter? Are you willing to miss the chance?"

"Prove it!"

"You know very well that I can't do that."

Harry blinked, then stepped back, shaking his head.

"No, no, no. Don't try to fool me. You're a liar and I'm not a fool to let you manipulate me. I _don't _believe you and I don't wish to talk about it again."

He turned away, considering the topic to be closed. His feet were freezing so he bent to put his shoe on. He heard Voldemort pace around, before he stopped right beside him.

"Potter, I _need_ that sweater."

Harry jumped a little when he felt Voldemort's long sleeve glide over his back. He righted himself and took a step back to keep the distance.

"Why?-!" he asked confused. "It's not made of unicorn hairs; neither there is the Sorcerer's Stone in the pocket. Tell me why you need it so much and I might even consider your request."

Voldemort moved forward, getting nearer and nearer to Harry, who retreated until he found himself pressed against a stone.

"Is it really so difficult to guess, Potter?"

"No, it's obvious you are freezing cold," Harry snorted, hiding his nervousness as Voldemort approached him. His eyes searched for some escape route, but the Dark Lord already blocked the most of them with his body.

"But why would you ... hey ... it makes no sense!" Harry all of a sudden realized. "Your statements are quite contradictory, aren't they? Some time ago you told me that we are going to die here and you'll be the one to kill me. Now you say you won't do that as long as we stay here. _As long as we stay here, Voldemort!_ Since when you are planning to leave?-!"

The Dark Lord didn't reply. He remained silent and glaring at Harry, who couldn't stand his scorching gaze any longer. He took a deep breath and raised his chin.

"You're not going to answer me, are you? Well, I don't mind. I tell you flat what I think. From what I saw I'm convinced that my pullover is something as a ticket outside for you. That's why it is so important, even more than my death is. Yeah, it's perfectly clear now. Why would you bother to kill me when you can simply leave me here to die?"

Harry's cheeks flushed with color as he confronted Voldemort, who first did nothing and then grinned evilly at him. Nonchalantly, he closed the distance.

"It's remarkable what absurdity you're able to think up when your mind has nothing to ponder about," he whispered softy, a wicked glint in his eyes.

"What are you doing?-!" Harry choked in alarm once he registered a pale hand nearing his face.

He was paralyzed, torn between a desire to attack and a desire to flight. The Dark Lord towered above him, so close that he could see his lips moving.

"Forget that piece of rag, Potter. I don't really care about it anymore. It's your skin what fascinates me now. It's nearly glowing." The icy fingers ghosted over his cheek. Harry gasped, inwardly expecting an eruption of pain in his scar, but it didn't come. He pressed his pullover tightly to his chest, fighting the urge to smack the offending limb. The bony hand glided from Harry's chin to his temple, fingers worming their way through his thick hair.

"Stop it right now!"

Harry wanted to kick himself for sounding so weak. He wanted to kick Voldemort as well, but it would only result in another fight, which Harry wanted to avoid. He tried to talk out of this.

"It seems that you've forgotten that I'm still a filthy half-blood, Riddle. How can you stand to touch me?" Harry spoke, trying some psychology.

The other hand sneaked around his shoulders, bringing their bodies in contact. Potter made a sort of gurgling noise reminiscent of an unsuccessful scream of fury.

"Harry, Harry," the chilly voice whispered into his ear. "It's hard to resist. Let me give you an example. Imagine I had a handful of moldy biscuits in my pocket right now. Would you refuse them if I was willing to share?"

Voldemort, of course, used another level of psychology and Harry didn't know what to answer at first.

"You would never share anything with me and neither would I with you," he retorted, squirming in the unwanted embrace. This was not the solace he longed for. He refused to think of it and also of the food as his stomach recently stopped torturing him so much.

As he thrashed about to escape the grasp he could feel how dreadfully skinny and cold Voldemort was. There was no trace of warmth emitted by his body. He felt like a corpse.

A corpse which was given the ability to talk and murder people, Harry though disgustedly as Voldemort spoke to him again.

"That's where you are mistaken, Potter. I share something essential with you since the moment we were forced to exist in this ... cell. And you shall repay me by stopping that silly struggle."

"Oh, really? And what is that essential thing?" Harry grumbled in annoyance.

"I wonder whether someone as blind as you will notice," he heard a cruel reply and in the twinkling of an eye the light went off.

_Completely._

The darkness was unimaginable. For a second Harry thought that he had suddenly died, but then he heard the cold chuckle above him.

"So you did notice," the voice hissed contentedly.

"Have you lost your mind?-! What are you doing?-!" Harry cried, feeling the panic surging inside him.

"You see, brat, how utterly dependent you are on me? All I ask is something in return. I'm tired to play your bulb for nothing."

Harry's breath hitched in his throat.

"What do you want?"

"I'm glad you cooperate at last. I suggest you pay attention because I won't repeat it. Now, listen. As long as you keep me warm, Potter, the light will be on. Is that clear?"

Harry bit his lip until he tasted blood. Voldemort knew very well how to corner him. He had no option but to agree.

"Yeah," he growled at last. There was nothing else to say anyway.

When the shimmering light illuminated the cave again he pushed Voldemort off him and threw him his pullover. He had to admit he lost this game.

"Take it and be off! I can't stand your presence for another second."

Voldemort slightly bowed his head, victorious smirk gracing his face.

"It's my pleasure to negotiate with you, Potter."

Harry watched him leaving and for a moment he truly wished to bang his head against the wall.

_**R & R**_

**Author's note:** I'm sorry for a short delay. I wanted to update this story every week, but it's nearly impossible now. Leastwise I'll try to do it as fast as possible. If you have any ideas, suggestions, questions or comments, don't hesitate and leave a review. Thanks.


	13. The darkest hour

**The darkest hour**

_18__th__ December 2000_

_London, Grimmauld Place 12_

"Hermione," said a deep soft voice. "Hermione, please, don't cry. He will be all right. Everything's going to be all right."

Another painful sob.

"That's not true, Ron. We both know it," she choked and buried her head into his shoulder, wiping her tears into his shirt. "If ... if Harry was alive, he would be back by now..."

And she burst into tears again.

"Why did he leave us? We ... we promised to stick together, to stay by him no matter how bad the things are and yet ... he left ... why...?"

Ron sighted, fingers running through her bushy hair.

"You know Harry. He's such a hothead sometimes. But he's also a survival. He will make it ... he must... Oh Merlin, I miss him so much."

He hugged her tightly, hoping to share and gain some comfort.

"But Voldemort won, Ron," she said, straightening in his embrace so she could look into his face. Her voice was suddenly very calm and serious, though some tears still glittered in her eyes.

"Stop saying his name!" he growled and tried to look away, but she held his chin firm.

"Don't you see what's happening? Umbridge is the Minister for Magic! All muggleborns are fired from their posts _again_; _and_ there are many strange foreigners on the Ministry... What are they doing there? What do they want? Who do you think is that shady Leader? I have creeps when I see him. I guess I wouldn't feel better if I met Voldemort in person."

"Don't say his...!"

"He tampers with all influential wizards! I think it's he who holds the control now. I'm so glad I quitted, I can't stand the thought that I was possibly working with someone who serves to Voldem..."

"DON'T SAY HIS NAME!"

"FINE, RON!"

They glared at each other fiercely. Then Hermione lowered her head, sighted and whispered apologetically: "Sorry, I didn't mean to shout at you."

"No, I'm sorry, Hermione, forgive me," he said quietly. "All I wanted to say is that if Harry was ... dead," he stammered, "then You-Know-Who would not make it a secret. But there are no proclamations of victory, no raids against the muggles, only Umbridge grinning at us from pages of the Daily Prophet's. I don't want to give up on Harry yet."

"Neither do I."

"Then let's make some plan. We should stop hoping that he miraculously appears in the door and rather try to find a way how to help him," he suggested.

A small smile graced her face. "Yeah, I guess you're right, honey. It's possible..."

A horrendous scream coming from downstairs interrupted her. Hermione jumped on her feet looking wildly around. She almost misheard several soothing voices coming from the ground floor a moment later.

"What was that, Ron?" she asked breathlessly.

"Oh," he mumbled. "You don't know it yet, right. Err, it's just my mom. It's her new routine for last two days. She always sees a huge snake somewhere. Once in the cupboard, next time in the pantry... Dad and I think that it's another Boggart. We are trying to catch him, but without any success. Percy is on the other hand convinced that it's a result of permanent stress. You know ... since the night when my dad had been attacked by You-Know-Who's snake, she can't stand those creatures. And now when Harry's gone, her fears intensified."

Hermione nodded compassionately and seized his hand. "Let's try to cheer her up a little and then we must find some quick way how to save our best friend."

*****

_London, the Ministry of Magic_

Dolores Umbridge, the new Minister for Magic, was extremely bored and weary. She has never thought that ruling over Britain mostly represents sitting in her office and listening to whines and complains of her subordinates. True, she was an expert in hypocrisy and she managed to keep a mask of indifference for a pretty long time, but the current situation turned to be simply intolerable. Why just everyone has to lament about the same thing over and over again, ignoring her apparent hints of exasperation?

"Ma'am, please, if you listened to our arguments, you'd have to accept the fact that we cannot follow that regulation."

The young, slightly fatty man, whose name she quickly forgot, was incredibly bothersome. Well, the others standing behind him weren't any better. She cursed under her breath.

"Who do you think you are talking to, young man? I'm the Minister for Magic and my regulation is a law!" she spat.

But he was incorrigible. When he repeated for the sixth time 'We cannot run the Ministry without muggleborn workers', and she retorted over and over again 'You'll manage', Dolores imagined she could smack his pinkish face or better – use a short Cruciatus curse, which would deprive him of his stubbornness. When He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named controlled the Ministry, he didn't need any mudbloods to help him. Everything worked very nicely without them. So where was the problem now? Unfortunately, she couldn't say it aloud regardless of how much it burned on her tongue.

Dolores was sick of playing a nice girl all the time. She took a deep breath and placed her palms on a polished table to support her weight.

"Listen, dear. I absolutely refuse to work overtime only to solve your total incompetence. I order you to leave my office now. Tomorrow morning I expect to have shift schedules without any muggleborn employees on my table, is that clear?"

"But Minister, we don't have enough people..."

"Then find some!"

"But there aren't..."

"Enough of this! Out of my office, all of you!"

She met their bewildered gazes.

"Now!" she shrieked and leaned over to emphasize her words.

They shifted to opened door, mumbling quiet words of disillusion and discomfiture.

Umbridge sighted in relief as the last person disappeared behind the corner. She couldn't wait to leave to her new apartment, have a long bath and spend some lovely time with her cute kittens. She didn't realize she had closed her eyes before a dark shadow fell over her face.

"I SAID GET OUT...!" She looked up at the person and paused.

A short greyish man halted in front of her table.

"Minister," he muttered a curt greeting. Dolores forced herself to relax.

"Mr. Crouch, what is it you came to tell me?" Her face widened into a gooey grin. "Are you satisfied as a new head of the Auror Department? Is there anything to report?"

He blankly nodded.

Umbridge's grin disappeared.

"Speak then," she said quietly and waved her wand to close the door.

His unblinking gaze focused into her impatient eyes.

"I thought you might wish to know that we have succeeded, Minister."

Dolores was breathless for a second.

"You have succeeded?-! You ... you mean...?" Her lips continued to move, but no sound left them. It was obvious though that she mouthed Potter's name.

Crouch remained disinterested. He plainly nodded again.

"Yes, Ma'am," he said. "It is my duty to inform you that we have finally found them."

Umbridge straightened her shoulders, feral grin on her face.

"What are we waiting for, then?"

*****

_A limestone quarry, Southern England_

_15 minutes later_

The evening was chilly. Dolores regretted she didn't put on her woolly cardigan as she wrapped herself into her pink cloak and looked up at the clear sky colored in deep purple tones. Displeased, she realized she's standing knee-deep in frosty snow. Clearing it away with a flick of her wand she moved forward with Caspar Crouch on her trail.

"Is anybody else informed except your team?" she asked coldly.

"No, Ma'am."

"Not even the Leader?"

"No, Ma'am. We acted solely in accordance to your instructions."

"Perfect," she whispered. Her eyes quickly scanned the landscape and registered some individuals waiting for them hundred yards away at the edge of a crater or whatever it was.

"I hope your people are completely reliable."

As she walked she tripped over a stone and _vanished_ it without a second thought. "Filthy muggles," she complained as she weaved her way through large boulders and ruins of some building, "they always make a horrid mess everywhere." She paused just for a second to catch her breath.

Crouch trotted behind her to keep up with her quick march.

"I picked up the most loyal Aurors to investigate the matter, Minister. I'm sure they will clear it all up."

Dolores suddenly halted again and looked into puffy face of the older man. "Tell me Caspar," she said quietly, "what House they were in?"

Crouch seemed to be confused about the question.

"Slytherin, most of them."

"Perfect," she whispered again, put on a wide grin and climbed up a slope to join the group of awaiting magicians.

"Good evening, everyone," she twittered, watching their nods and whispers of greetings. Dolores regarded their faces carefully. Six wizards and five witches, mostly about her age, two of them _slightly_ (not substantially, she would never admit it!) younger. They weren't looking at her. Instead, they glared at each other as if there was a silent quarrel going on.

Dolores quietly coughed to draw their attention.

"So, where do we have them?"

They exchanged more brief glances before the oldest one, Mr. Puttock as he introduced himself, spoke.

"We are not completely sure where they are, Ma'am. We suspect they might be captured somewhere underground, if they are not dead already."

Umbridge blinked in surprise, then pursed her lips and asked in false goodness.

"What do you mean, dear? I was told that you had found them. Was that a lie?"

Their eyes met and he briskly looked away when he registered her unsuccessful attempt of _Legilimency_.

"We found something confirming their presence," he said once he got his thoughts under control. Dolores impatiently dragged her heels.

"Could you be more specific Mr. Puttock? What are you speaking about?"

He hesitated and looked at his colleagues who eyed him disapprovingly.

"Their wands, Ma'am. We found their wands."

He paused.

"Two days ago our muggle information source notified us of an accident in this quarry. Due to suspicion of a magical origin of this accident we investigated the matter thoroughly. Indeed, we confirmed a strong release of magic, which triggered several detonators and lead to a blast devastating everything in a range of two hundred yards. If anyone was in the epicentre, their chances of survival were minimal. We questioned the employers of this quarry before we wiped off their memories, but they found no bodies or their pieces whatsoever. But as I said before, we found their wands."

Umbridge's lips curved in a very sweet smile.

"Show me," she said, her eyes gleaming in anticipation.

He nodded sharply and pulled a long cylindrical object out of his sleeve.

"Hawthorn and unicorn hair. Ten inches. This is a wand which Potter used during his Auror training."

She reached out but halted an inch before she touched the wood.

"And the other wand?" she asked eagerly. "The one which belonged to _him_?" She deliberately refused to call it by one of its famous names.

Few seconds they lingered in silence.

"We must subject it to further investigation," he finally said. Umbridge was sure she saw his other hand clench the inner pocket of his cloak. Her heart raced. It was incredible, amazing, nearly unbelievable! The Elder Wand – the Wand of Destiny was so close to her reach! Her eyes glowed. That wand must be hers! It must be! So much power and respect is connected to its master! Struggling to keep her poker's face, she smiled sweetly.

"But of course. However, this is not your specialization, is it? You're an Auror, not an expert in wandlore. Give me that wand; I'll take care of it. There is a whole Department of Mysteries, which can work on unlocking its secrets. I assure you it will be in very good hands."

"I don't think it is a good idea, Minist..."

"Is it possible that such a competent and trustworthy Auror like you is showing me disobedience?" Her voice trembled in faked perturbation.

Puttock searched for support by his co-workers, but only received their cold glares. Everyone seemed to be obsessed by the object he was hiding. If he could master it he would try to break loose. But the wand did not work for him correctly. He had already tried that. Shrugging his shoulders he whispered.

"No, of course not. Here it is."

He couldn't overlook the hungry gleam in her eyes as her fingers curled around the smooth wood, which had been touched by thousands of hands. Promptly, she put it inside her sleeve.

"Very good," she said once she regained her composure. "Now, let's solve this matter quickly. I'm sure you that won't object when I say that Harry Potter is a criminal who used Cruciatus curse against a wizard fighting with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. The punishment is a life sentence in Azkaban. I suggest he should stay imprisoned here (if he's still alive, of course) to spare one cell in our little overcrowded prison. Concerning the case of You-Know-Who, no matter what he must not be rescued. I suggest you to set up strong Anti-apparation wards around here. It would also suit our purpose if none of You-Know-Who's followers could find this place. Some protective enchantments, Muggle-Repelling and Disillusionment Charms should do the trick. I guess you all agree with me when I say that we need neither that muggle-loving Potter, nor a lunatic dark wizard among us."

Everyone nodded except of one Auror. She was the youngest one, twenty-five years old at most.

"I don't agree, Minister," she said in a firm voice, raising her head up. "It's ... cruel and inhuman. They might be criminals, but they have a right to be rescued and justify their actions on trial. Besides I think that Harry Potter was pardoned for his misdeeds by Minister Kingsley in person. "

Umbridge, who already turned away to leave, looked back and gasped in surprise.

"Oh, my dear girl! And you think you are the one who can do justice to them? The treatment I suggested might be unkind but torturing and killing innocent people is not? Potter was pardoned only because he's Kingsley's old friend. As you can see, he had always befriended some suspicious individuals such as mudbloods, bloodtraitors, werewolves or giants. It's not really surprising, that Kingsley had also been proven to be unreliable and dangerous. Besides, I personally think that there's no way how to apologize the abuse of Cruciatus curse. We must not allow Potter's acquaintanceship with prominent wizards to hinder the justice. I know that none of you want him as a comrade, because you know better than anyone else what he did and what he's capable to do. How unfair it would be for you to live in Potter's shadow? You are strong and independent magicians, fortunately unaffected by his fame. Or am I wrong?"

The young Auror hesitated for a second.

"No, Ma'am ... still it's against the law," she said quietly.

"WHAT LAW?" Dolores nearly shrieked. "You're elite of our society. Your job is to wipe off dark wizards and other criminals, not to save them! If you don't feel up to it then I want to have your deposition in my morning mail!"

The young woman bent her head down. "That won't be necessary, Minister."

Umbridge took a deep breath and raised her fleshy chin.

"Good," she sang in her girlish voice again. Her sweet voice was poisonous. "Keep in your mind that any information leakage will be revealed and severely punished."

She wrapped her cloak tightly to her body and glanced around the darkened place for the one last time. Satisfied, she turned on the spot and disappeared to enjoy her new, unique possession.

*****

_The limestone quarry, Southern England_

_Thirty feet under ground_

"The cunning bastard," Harry sighted and rested his head against the cold stone.

"How I hate his guts. Everything's only his fault."

He dug deeper into rock, trying to enlarge the narrow crevice. He couldn't breathe properly because his chest was squeezed between two large stones. He refused to admit the obvious fact that he just reached the end of the slot. That all his hard work was nothing but a vain effort. That all his hopes were vain as well. He couldn't admit it for sake of his sanity, so he rather nursed his hatred towards Voldemort. It helped him to keep his thoughts focused even when he was tormented by a tough pain in his muscles, permanent coldness and unbearable hunger. Sadly, hatred wasn't very helpful in fight with his exhaustion. The stone gouge slipped from his fingers and his eyes closed on their own accord. His lips moved though he didn't plan on speaking aloud.

"He tried to kill me many times, yeah, but if I'd be dead I would no longer suffer here..."

"Gosh!" he kicked the wall. "I must not think like that! I will get out of here! I WILL!"

The problem was he that couldn't believe it anymore.

And then, when he was sulking in his misery, when he was slowly giving up everything, the worst of all things happened.

The light went off. Without a sound, without any warning he was left in pitch black darkness.

The shock was unspeakable.

"NOOO!" he roared in terror. He knew immediately that Voldemort managed to escape this vault, this tomb. Frenzied, he slid down the wet wall and blindly he searched for the entrance out of the slot.

"I CURSE YOU VOLDEMORT! I CURSE YOU! I HOPE YOU MEET THE MOST PITIFUL DEATH! I WISH YOU TO SUFFER ENDLESSLY FOR LEAVING ME HERE!"

Tears of horror and despair were trickling down his face.

He wished to die, he wished to die so much that he didn't even hear a soft crack of Apparation.

"Potter?"

Harry choked, instinctively looked up and froze.

The soft light was back and he found himself staring into wide scarlet eyes of his archenemy.

"No."

Those thin pale lips moved.

"No ... I cannot be possibly back."

"I cannot be..."

Harry had no idea how long they gazed at each other without any movement. Only when the gaunt figure before him started to shake in crazy tremors, Harry woke from his daze.

He took a deep breath. And then another one.

"That ... that means ... I have failed ... I have failed to do it in time ... I wasn't quick enough ... it's too late..."

Harry paid no heed to Riddle's rattle at the moment. He was much too astounded to learn how _happy _he was to see him again. It was incredible that only few moments ago he was devoured by the worst feelings towards this man.

The Dark Lord sank to his knees, multiplying Harry's amazement.

The young man forced himself to get up and approached the other man who seemed to have troubles with breathing.

"Tom?" Harry asked almost softly, regarding the Dark Lord guardedly. He saw his long claws lacerating his pale face, drawing blood from partially healed blisters.

Voldemort ignored him. Instead, he howled like a beast awaiting a slaughter. He threw himself against the wall, punching it. The stones cracked under his hands as his magic attacked them; broken bloody nails were hanging off his fingers as he scraped the cold stone aimlessly. Harry watched him growing more and more worried. Riddle seemed to be delirious, completely out of control over his actions. He hurt himself and ignored it. It was an alarming sign that something was seriously wrong with him.

"Tom?" Harry tried again, unsure what to do.

But he knew he has to intervene, before the Dark Lord incurs some serious injury.

"Stop it!" he barked at him, but once again remained unheeded.

Acting on instinct he moved forward, grasped his pullover (which by the way looked really silly on Voldemort as Harry noticed) and pulled him off the wall. He locked his arms firmly around the snakelike man's chest, expecting the worst. The Dark Lord was livid. Harry was surprised how much strength can be hidden in such skinny body. Or maybe he alone was too enervate after many days of hard work without any feeding and rest. All in all, it cost most of his energy to keep his captive safely in his grasp. He held that wriggling and squirming body and he listened to his desperate whimpers and cries, feeling vindictively delighted, yet also uncomfortable and anxious. Finally, after many minutes of hard struggle, the Dark Lord's attempts to free himself slackened. Harry carefully released his grip, but Voldemort made no effort to move. His every breath sounded as a choked sob.

„I know what's wrong with you," Harry spoke at once. Voldemort's sudden passivity distressed him nearly as much as his previous fit of madness.

„Your plan has failed, right?"

Silence. Voldemort even stopped breathing.

„I have no idea how you wanted to disappear, but it didn't work out. Fortunately."

The response was quick and unexpected. Voldemort apparently recuperated from his mental anguish as he suddenly burst into maniacal cackle which lasted for good two minutes, before he calmed himself enough to stab the youngster by one of his Looks. His laughter might have been bitter, cold and venomous, but his glare was much worse. Harry recoiled.

"You are such a dolt Potter. Not that I complain, no, not at all. I'm grateful for it. It was pleasant to laugh at you for one last time. It's amusing to know that were you only a little more literate, you would be long gone, leaving me behind. But no, school has never been your priority, has it? Don't look so surprised, it's no secret for me. Snape used to inform me about all your lapses in education." He paused. "It also entertains me greatly that your _beloved _bootlickers have betrayed you and you don't even know it."

Harry stared.

"What the hell are you talking about?-!" he whispered stunned.

The broken nails scraped his cheek. Voldemort face was so close that he could even see his ghastly grin.

"It's not only my failure, boy. Not as much as it is yours."

Harry gasped, clutched at Riddle's face and pushed it away. His action elicited a deluge of angry hissing as if he accidentally stepped in a nest of serpents. He didn't pay much attention to Voldemort's swearing though. There were more urgent questions to be answered.

"Explain!" he demanded curtly. Anger boiled in his veins, all previous compassion long forgotten.

"Pah! Why should I bother to say anything? Because you ordered me to?-! You're so pathetic, Potter!" Voldemort sneered, extricating himself from Harry's once more firm grip. He couldn't stand the lack of respect, which that arrogant whelp was constantly showing him.

"Fine. Do as you wish. Be off! But leave that pullover here," Harry said icily, his face cold as stone. "Our _truce_ is over. You weren't allowed to leave me in darkness, remember?"

It worked better than he dared to hope. Voldemort hesitated; then gritted teeth and ultimately sat back beside him.

At length he spoke tonelessly.

"Have it your way, brat ... for once. What exactly do you want to hear?"

Harry stifled a smirk. Finally they were even.

"Everything," he whispered.

_**R&R**_

**Author's note:** If you read it up to this point don't hesitate and leave a review! XD

Oh, and one more thing. I have a dilemma whether to address Umbridge Minister or Ministress. I _really_ don't know. Could you help me? Thanks!


	14. Unwelcome surprises

**Unwelcome surprises**

_The limestone quarry, Southern England_

_Late evening, 18__th__ December 2000_

Harry felt awful. Aside from his physical discomfort (being in the dark cold wet cave without a food for too many days), he had to face emotions which he wasn't very proud of. And things were quickly getting worse. He wondered whether he might end up as Riddle who had already undergone some sort of a mental breakdown. He could also easily vent his stress by crying, wailing and begging for mercy. Harry glanced at his companion and disregarded this thought. It would be an option if he was imprisoned with anyone but Voldemort. Still if the Dark Lord could show more weakness than him, he had to think whether he wasn't completely loony yet. How else could he explain that he was sitting beside the murderer of his parents, the slaughterer of many innocents, beside the man who was prophesized to kill him and/or _vice versa_, and doing nothing at all? They should be having a death match, not sharing this place in nearly companionable silence. While he waited for Voldemort to speak he pondered this might be a good thing in the end. If he were crazy, he wouldn't suffer so much very likely. Besides, being mad would give him a bright new perspective of his life. He wouldn't have to pretend that his hatred towards this man and his followers is stronger than his desire to stay alive. He could effortlessly accept the fact that it is _normal_ to feel it this way.

The world used to know before was all too simple, black and white – no grey places. Voldemort deserved to die and he did his best to make sure of it. But it's all different now. He needs him alive and sooner or later he'll have to ask him for a help. Harry had no idea life can be so absurd.

"So?" he prompted Voldemort to speak. His thoughts were exceedingly disturbing and he wished he could pay attention to something else.

The Dark Lord's face curved in disdain. He remained silent, plucking his broken claws away.

Harry decided to get some answers from him.

"You said I could have left you behind. How is that possible?"

He heard a long exasperated sigh before Voldemort spoke coldly.

"It's simple, Potter. Aren't you a wizard? Haven't you considered a possibility of using your magic to get out of here?"

Harry snorted, scratching his bearded cheek.

"Yeah and how would I do that without my wand?"

"Typical," Voldemort grunted and to Harry to his great displeasure he had to wait another minute before the Dark Lord spoke again.

"Tell me Potter, do you think it's your wand what makes you a wizard?"

"Of course not!" Harry spat angrily. "But I can't do magic without it!"

"Oh, really?"

The youngster chuckled bitterly.

"So you think I can! What an interesting idea, Tom, but I hope you can explain then why we use wands in the first place when we - according to you - don't need them at all."

Voldemort stood up abruptly and sneered down at Harry from his respectable height.

"You are such an arrogant and uneducated whelp, Potter. We use wands because they make us superior. Every person or creature gifted by magical abilities wants to be a wand-carrier. Have you ever heard this term, boy?"

Before Harry could say a word he continued.

"Honestly, I'm extremely disappointed. After that show you performed in Hogwarts I thought more highly of you."

"First, I'm not a boy! Second, I've heard that term before. And third, you still haven't told me how I could get outside, while you couldn't." Harry retorted.

Voldemort's red, cat-like eyes narrowed, which Harry couldn't see, but he registered the way they burned in rage. A hissing sound filled his ears.

"_**Insufferable brat! **__**Now I see why Snape couldn't stand to be your teacher."**_

Harry resisted a childish urge to stick out his tongue.

"You don't see the point, Potter," the Dark Lord spoke in harsh tone after a short pause. "Magician and a wand gradually form a sort of symbiosis. This process makes wand-carriers much stronger than anyone of those who do not carry the wand. There are many hundreds of thousands of wizards all over the world, but only thousands of them are using wands, Potter. Let's say it's mostly our European specialty."

Harry suddenly understood.

"That's why you are trying to take over the world from Europe. You think that only here you can meet the strongest opponents!"

The Dark Lord ignored Harry's comment.

"But we pay a prize for this symbiosis," he whispered coldly. "The longer you use the wand the more you become dependent on it. At some point you temporarily lose the ability to channel your magic without this instrument. For a kid like you it should have been hours before you are able to use your magic properly. For me it was a question of days ... which is too long..."

Harry slowly absorbed the information.

"Does...," he began, but he had to cough to clear his throat, "does it mean that I was able to _apparate_ away just a few hours after that ... incident?"

Voldemort's pale lips widened into a shark-like smile.

"Precisely. If you have at least average magical skills, then yes, you could have tried to _apparate_, but seeing your dispositions I would doubt the success anyway."

Harry slowly rose to his full height, gritting his teeth.

"I successfully _apparated_ without a wand when I was only eight years old!"

He watched Voldemort's grin fade away.

"I was chased by Dudley's gang and in an attempt to escape them I _apparated _on the roof of school kitchens."

Harry relished in the fact that Voldemort was speechless.

"Could you _apparate_ as a kid?" he taunted him.

"Of course I could," the Dark Lord retorted, regaining his composure. "I used this ability to irritate children in the orphanage. I hid their possessions on places where they couldn't retrieve them. It was funny at that time. But you're the first magician I know who could do the same."

Harry shook his head.

"Hardly. You did it on purpose while in my case it was merely an accident. Anyways, we shall get back to our business concerning Apparation out of this friggin place..."

The Dark Lord's expression turned back into the cruel grin.

"Go on. _Apparate._ I wish to see your body splinched."

Harry blinked.

"What's the problem?" he asked, not truly expecting the answer. He was surprised to receive one.

"What's the problem, boy?" Voldemort sneered and sat back on the boulder with some difficulty, his voice cold, bitter and ironic. "It depends what's your conception of problematic situation. If you count the fact that we've been found, judged and condemned to death, then I would agree that our problem is right there."

Harry stared.

"Why you are so surprised, Potter? You surely know that there is an army of Aurors tracking me all the time. It was only a question of few days before they found us. Now, tell me boy, how does it feel to know that no one is brave enough to come here and rescue you?"

"You ... you lie," Harry muttered.

"If you don't trust me Potter, why don't you try to_ apparate_? You'll never get over the wards around this cave."

"YOU LIE!" he screamed in disbelief.

Voldemort laughed sadistically.

"Ah, you're such a naive kid! And what a _lovely friends _you have! They decided to let you die. How very kind of them, isn't it? Tell me brat, does it hurt you to know that you've been betrayed?"

"No!" Harry choked, fisting his hands focusing all his willpower on Apparation. He turned on the spot and felt himself being drawn down a rubber tube. He learned all too soon that the tube was blocked - he hit something so hard that he felt every bone in his body bend in awkward angles and then he was falling backwards, choking, gasping for air.

"Oh, welcome back," a high cold voice sneered from somewhere above him. "Did you enjoy your short trip?"

Harry opened his eyes, feeling weak and cold. He realized he was lying on the ground while Voldemort was leaning over him, looking overly satisfied.

"Still in one piece, what a pity," he added somehow disappointed.

Harry had many choice words to say about the matter, but why to support Voldemort's amusement? He rather kept his mouth shut, but his emerald eyes were quite eloquent. Thinking quickly Harry refused to believe that Riddle was right. There was surely another explanation why he couldn't get outside, but for now he had to put up with the fact and get over it.

"Okay," he growled finally, sitting up. "It doesn't work. What's the plan B?"

The older man's mirth rapidly disappeared.

"There's no plan B, boy." His cold voice was hollow at once, emotionless and Harry looked up, trying to judge Voldemort's expression. The man made it easier as he knelt down to him.

"There's nothing else we can do."

There was a hint of fear. Harry heard it and nearly felt it radiating from his opponent. There was something wrong about it. He didn't want to see Voldemort experiencing such pitiful emotions, proving him that he might not be as monstrous as he showed to the world. If Harry was sure about one thing then it was the fact that he could never kill a human being. Thus it bothered him deeply that the Dark Lord still possessed some basic human qualities. He should never learn this about him.

Voldemort fortunately turned his face away, trying to regain self-control.

Harry breathed out loudly through his nose.

"So you ran out of ideas, didn't you?" he asked, meeting his glare again. Now he could see the reason for Riddle's despair, which also endowed him with a certainty that he wasn't crazy yet. Voldemort lost all hopes while he didn't. Harry gazed into the blurry sanguine eyes and didn't feel a need to look away. Besides, he had an advantage - Voldemort was on his knees - right where he wanted him to be. His lips twitched and formed a small smile.

"I guess it's my turn now."

*****

_London, the Ministry of Magic_

_19__th__ December 2000, shortly after the midnight_

Candles. Satin bed. Golden furniture. Soft cracking coming from a fireplace. Ron stared in amazement. He has never seen such a fabulous room before.

"Come on, Ron! We don't have a time."

The ginger youngster blinked and shook his head when Hermione tugged at his hand.

"Hermione, look at this! It's simply fantastic," he breathed, following his girlfriend in awe. "This is incredible. I bet not even Umbridge live in such luxury. One would never believe what secrets are hidden in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Strange, I really thought I know them all."

"Don't be so surprised Ron," she whispered, quickly came to the mahogany table and started to attentively list through letters collated on the desktop. "I'm sure this room wasn't here at the time. The current inhabitant moved in just a week ago."

Her eyes scanned several letters at once.

"Interesting," she whispered for herself and checked another parchment. "Everything is in French, no ... no ... Romanian I think."

Meanwhile Ron began to inspect the area and stopped by the plushy bed with a purple coverlet. He couldn't resist a temptation and sank into the satin sheets.

"So all of this stuff belongs to that strange guy who let everyone call him the Leader?" he mumbled testing the quality of material between his fingers.

She raised her eyes off the lines and scowled at him.

"You would do much better if you watched the door. I'd prefer not to get caught."

Ron grinned in reply.

"Oh, don't worry. George and Percy are doing their best to keep the guards off."

She sighed.

"I bet they do, but still ... I don't like being here. I don't like it at all."

"Remember, you wanted to come here in the first place," Ron taunted her. "It's you who have a fixed idea that in this particular room is a key to Harry's rescue."

Hermione made a noncommittal noise and quickly opened another envelope.

"Oh my god."

Ron sprang to his feet and came to stand behind her.

"Have you found something?" he asked eagerly.

"I don't know ... maybe. Look at this. The text is in Romanian, but here is Harry's name and here – look D. Malfoy - it must be Draco Malfoy. It ... it seems to be written in blood..."

"Humph, Umbridge obviously started to implement her old torturing techniques," he mumbled and brought her back to bed, where they both sat, listing through the pages.

"What's there?" Hermione asked suddenly and Ron followed her gaze and realized she's no longer staring at the sanguine neat handwriting, but on a large purple pillow partly covered by the bedspread. She moved there and lit the tip of her wand. He quickly noticed what caught her attention. There was a large black stain over the silky material and several drops of the strange liquid on the bed sheet.

"Ink?" he suggested, but she shook her head. Her skin was suddenly very pale.

"No, I don't think so. I ... I think it's time to leave."

But Ron was too curious to let the puzzle unsolved. He leaned forward and grasped the cushion. It was still wet. He cursed and wiped his hands into his trousers, leaving there a long sanguine trace.

"Bloody hell...," he managed to choke out. "What ... what kind of sick person is he?"

"Look," Hermione whispered and her finger pointed at the place where the pillow had been. She didn't dare to move any closer. Ron hesitated for a moment but then he mustered his courage and leaned forward. A long white tubular object was carefully arranged between silky blankets. He carefully seized it and opened the lid.

"Something's inside," he whispered.

"Ron..."

"It's okay. It looks like a parchment – no, hang on, it's some kind of a cloth."

He pulled it out, ignoring Hermione's protests, and carefully started to unroll it. He nearly laughed aloud when he realized what it is.

"It's just a painting, Hermione," he chuckled after seeing a stunned look in her sallow face. "Portrait maybe? Let's take a look."

Hermione's trembling hand pointed the shining tip of her wand toward the portrayal and once Ron saw the image he screamed in shock and jumped of the bed. She didn't make any sound as she covered her mouth by her hand just in time.

"Bloody hell ... bloody hell," Ron repeated several times, refusing to believe his eyes.

The male face on the picture was extremely pale in contrast to his jet-black hair and a dark background. His features, which surely used to be handsome, had been blurred; they were waxy and distorted. The whites of the eyes had a bloody look giving him an expression of ultimate malice. There was no doubt who the man was.

Ron produced a gurgling sound, goggling at the painting.

"What kind of sick vicious depraved being can sleep on a bloodied cushion with a portrait of ... of You-Know-Who under his head?"

Voldemort on the picture sneered in annoyance.

Hermione after seeing this fought the urge to faint; her knees were too weak to keep her upright.

"Let's get out of here, Ron, please, please let's get out of here. It was a very bad idea of me. I admit it. I admit everything! But please, let's go!"

She grasped his hand and he uttered only a weak "Yes," before he grasped the painting, forced it back into the tube (ignoring the Dark Lord's black scowl), threw the pillow over it and they both sprinted towards the door as if there was a devil at their heels.

_**R & R**_


	15. A little misconception

**A little** **misconception**

**IMPORTANT NOTE:** Be warned if you are too squeamish! This chapter contains some swearing and hints of adult themes, but I believe it's still acceptable within T rating.

*****

"Your turn, Potter?" Voldemort whispered sardonically, once he fully regained control over his emotions.

Harry shrugged his shoulders.

"Yeah, let's do it my way. I still have one option left."

"What are you talking about?"

"I need your help, Voldemort," Harry said, his voice surprisingly soft and calm. He knew that one of them must be sensible and get over their mutual aversion. And because the Dark Lord would _never_ do that, it has to be him.

Silence, which followed, filled Harry with anxiety. He watched the tall person beside him stood up and pace regally around the boulder.

Finally he halted right in front of him and spoke.

"Do I take it right that you are asking me to help you save your pathetic life?"

"Yeah, that's one point of view," Harry nodded, keeping his expression serene. "The other is that I'm offering you the same, which is quite hard for me - you can imagine - but I must learn to live with that."

Voldemort's face stayed blank.

"Speak then."

Harry licked his lips and gulped down an acid of his empty stomach.

"I saw you break the stones by touching them," he spoke quietly. "I found it quite ... handy."

Silence returned with all its dispiriting intensity.

Voldemort crossed his arms over his chest and Harry instantly had to stifle a smirk when he caught a glimpse of his garment. Maybe his sweater suited him after all. This way the Dark Lord aired the evidence that he was the first one who had surmounted their mutual distaste.

"I see," Riddle spoke icily, breaking the course of Harry's thoughts. "You wish me to channel a path for you." He turned towards the slot where Harry spent so much time. "You reached the end and now I ought to be your ... _pickaxe_."

For the first time Harry truly appreciated that the Dark Lord can think so fast.

"Will you?" he asked innocently.

Riddle looked back over his shoulder, sneering in the most offensive way.

"No."

Right. That's it. Now Harry was more than fed up with the bastard's behavior. He jumped on his feet, approaching his companion, making him clearly uncomfortable.

"What the hell is your problem, Tom? If you have any better idea, spit it out!"

Those horrendous eyes were back on him, shining with malice, but the youngster didn't flinch.

"Do not ever call me that, brat. This is the last warning. Say it again and I'll rip out your tongue."

Harry fumed quietly. He felt like saying: 'Oh, go ahead Tom, show me what you have. Let's see how many bones I'll break you this time.' but he knew it would be very unwise to pursue this confrontation. It would be the most unavailing waste of energy.

"Come on, it's just a name," he said instead, rubbing his nose. "Why do you care so much?"

To his utmost surprise the next second he was on the ground, Voldemort above him, squeezing his throat again, but fortunately not so hard to stop his breathing. He choked and squirmed under the attacker. Soon he managed to get a grip of Voldemort's throat as well and at that point the Dark Lord released him. He slipped from his grasp and receded.

"Don't push your luck, Potter. You've already run out of it," he hissed rabidly.

"You psychotic madman!" Harry choked, standing up, rubbing his sore neck. "Don't you see what you are doing?-!"

"Fine," he spat when no reply came. "Do as you wish. If you hate me so much that you are willing to die for it then we _are_ going to die for it. You know, for a second I thought that we might try to cooperate and get out of this mess together. I thought we could postpone our hatred for a short while. How stupid of me!"

"How many times do I have to explain it to you, Potter?" a high cold voice chimed behind him. Harry spun around, wondering how Voldemort could get there so fast. "There is nothing we can do."

"Yeah ... right, because you don't even bother to consider my suggestion!" Harry retorted, breathing heavily.

Voldemort emerged from the shadow and the youngster involuntarily took a step back.

"I won't consider it as long as your _suggestion_ represents nothing else than a nasty way how to commit suicide."

Harry blinked.

"The ... what...?"

Long cold fingers curled around his chin and turned it upward. Emerald eyes met blood-red.

"What the hell...?"

"Think Potter, think! Use that dormant object inside your head! And now, tell me boy, where do you think all the water comes from?"

Harry jerked his head free and looked at the ceiling above them. It could have been pleasant to watch curtains of water falling down the glittering walls, spraying millions of sparkling droplets around, if Harry wasn't too cold and exhausted to care.

"It's raining outside?" he suggested the first thing which came to his mind.

Voldemort's hand which was still uplifted made a spastic little movement. It was the only reaction Harry observed. He felt he's being glared at and wondered what he said wrong this time. His cheeks turned red though he had absolutely no idea why.

"Well, forget that. It's not raining. Err..." he scratched his cheek, pondering. "I don't have a clue," he admitted some minute later. _Maybe because I don't want to know_, Harry thought inwardly.

"Idiot," Voldemort seethed, his red eyes blazing. "Do I really have to explain you everything?"

He took a deep breath, but it didn't really helped, he was still distracted.

"We are two hundred yards from a riverside, under the level of underground water. Yes, Potter, underground water. And it's flowing from the ceiling, not rising from the bottom!"

Harry gaped silently. Voldemort grasped his shirt, bringing their faces closer.

"We are in a small air lock, running out of oxygen by every hour, every stupid minute and all you can say is that it's raining outside! I wish I was half as dense as you so I could live in your blissful ignorance!"

They stared at each other for another brief moment before Riddle spoke again.

"You shall know that if I did what you asked me to do, we would be dead by now. We would drown here. Both. Very quickly."

Harry felt his heart missed another beat during several seconds. He squeezed his eyes shut as his sight blurred even more than it already was. He wasn't prepared to hear this. He was certain he will find a way to the surface, no matter what. But what if there wasn't any? What if Voldemort was right? He pressed his forehead into something surprisingly warm and soft, but ignored it; he didn't want to look at anything. He was too focused to visualize faces of his best friends. _Ron, Hermione, I'll never see you again. Never. _ His brain slowly, painfully started to process this information and an unstoppable sob escaped his mouth. _Don't leave me! Don't leave me here, please. I love you._

"I love you," he cried, clutching at the soft material against which he rested his head.

A surprised gasp interrupted his inner monologue. Harry had no idea he spoke aloud.

"What did you say, boy?-!"

He opened his eyes only to find his forehead propped against the other man's chest. Voldemort, by the way, looked completely stunned. After seeing this Harry made a strange gurgling sound in the back of his throat and jerked away so fast that he stumbled over his own legs and fell on his rear. It hurt pretty badly since he landed on a spiky stone.

"Ow, fuck!" Harry cursed aloud, massaging his back side.

Voldemort's consternation was quickly replaced by a cunning expression. He smirked and eloquently raised a piece of skin where normal people have an eyebrow.

"You want me to?"

Harry blinked absently, not catching what was going on.

The Dark Lord leisurely stepped nearer and he could almost hear a loud snap in Harry's head as he suddenly understood.

"DON'T YOU DARE TO COME ANY CLOSER YOU PERVERTED BASTARD!" the boy roared, his green eyes bulging as he backed away. Harry's mind was reeling. Did Voldemort just suggest that they...? What a _gross_! He definitely didn't want to learn_ this_ about his archenemy. He looked up in fear and saw Voldemort standing still, his arms tightly wrapped around his gaunt body.

His glare was scorching.

"Obviously you don't. Next time, Potter, spare me your indecent proposals, if you don't mean them!"

"WHAT?-!" Harry shrieked, choking in anger and shock.

"How could anyone confuse a swear word and a proposal?-!" Harry screamed once he caught a breath and made his voice sound a bit more controlled.

_Okay,_ he thought secretly, trying to calm himself down, _hopefully Voldemort isn't like that. Maybe he's just mocking me. I wonder what's worse_.

The Dark Lord glowered.

"I do not wish to talk about it anymore, brat. But if you must know, it was you who said you l... that abusive word."

Harry completely misconceived that Voldemort wasn't talking about the expletive at the moment.

"All right," he growled. "I shouldn't have said that. It was a mistake. Forget it."

He didn't hear the Dark Lord's quiet sigh of relief.

"I wish nothing more."

*****

_London__, the Department of International Magical Cooperation_

_19__th__ December 2000, 2:00 A.M._

He heard voices. Silent, soft and little venomous. He leaned down and pressed his ear to a key hole. His mouth went dry in fear, but he had to listen. He needed to know who he was talking to and the topic they discussed. The Dark Lord will require this information. But there was no avail. All too soon he realized they weren't speaking in English.

"Are you here to meet the Leader?"

Draco Malfoy yelped in surprise and spun around to face a small attractive dark-haired woman. Her tiny smile was sly and unpleasant. She braced another woman – a girl more likely, because she couldn't be older than thirteen - who seemed to be completely apathetic.

"Yeah ... I'm here in the matter of...," the blond man began, but she interrupted him coldly.

"I know who you are and why you came. You might not remember me, but I know you quite well."

Draco indeed did not remember her which didn't make him feel any better.

The woman went on. "The Leader hasn't dined yet," she said much more pleasantly, but her eyes were still cold. "He might be a little ... violent."

"I can wait until he's finished," he whispered, stepping away from the door, giving her some room. She came closer and laid her hand at the knocker.

"Is he awaiting you?" she asked suddenly and he had no option but to nod in agreement.

"Then why don't you come in?" she smiled openly for the first time and revealed her perfect white teeth.

"I'd prefer not to interrupt...," he began but she already knocked at the door, which opened immediately. He watched her and the girl as they stepped in. She spoke aloud and he found himself somehow fascinated by her soft and melodic voice.

Draco nervously bit his lip. He knew he shouldn't be here but he had no other option. He took a deep breath to calm himself a little and focused on her words instead.

"The dinner is ready for you, My Leader. I would also like to announce you that you have a visitor."

Someone else snickered inside as if a silent joke was said. It was laughter of some young man. For some reason Draco suddenly felt cold creeping up his spine.

"He may enter," spoke another voice, deeper but supple like liquid velvet.

Draco gulped idly and straightened his shoulders to look more notable. He won't back off the task the Dark Lord gave him. Not this time. He raised his head and clenched his teeth and before the woman appeared at the doorsill he came inside. Once he was there, his eyes glanced briefly over a large room and instinctively stopped in the middle where a tall person rested comfortably in a wide luxury armchair.

And then he saw his forbidden face. He had seen his features once before and he would do anything to forget that memory.

Not that the Leader's face was appalling, not at all. On the contrary, it was quite perfect. Captivating. That was the right word. Too much captivating for someone so cold and _inhuman_. Draco suspected what monster was hidden underneath that ultra pale skin, precisely formed purple lips and deep navy eyes which seemed to be nearly black in the weak light. The eyes which had a power to freeze blood in veins as well as caress and soothe him, drive away his anxiety.

Draco felt his heart rhythm slow down at the sight and all his fears suddenly faded away. Next moment his mind was at ease, nothing bothered him and scared him as long as he could watch those two gorgeous sapphires.

"Welcome back Draco, my sweet boy. It's nice to see you again," the velvet voice spoke, making all Draco's tensed muscles relax. The Leader licked his lips, stood up from a luxury chair and moved towards him, coming closer, his beautiful smile spreading wider and Draco couldn't wait to sink into his arms and fall asleep.

"My Leader, you should really dine first. Maybe he brought us some important message."

The man stopped, treading his pale fingers through his short chestnut-colored hair, before his attention was turned to the dark-haired woman, who glared at him disapprovingly.

Draco felt as if he was released him from a soporific spell. He shook his head, trying to get his senses back under control.

"I'm very well aware of what I should and shouldn't do, Leontina. Stop treating me as someone who needs your care!"

"He's going to kill you if you turn this boy as well," she hissed, baring her teeth.

"NO ONE CAN KILL ME!" he bellowed and stabbed her by his fierce gaze. "And you know it, my dear."

"Especially not the Dark Lord," he added more softly and smiled for himself. Then he pointed his forefinger towards the door and whispered one word.

"Out."

A young handsome male, who lay since that moment on a large fur by the royal armchair, slowly stood up and approached the Leader, swaying his hips seductively. He didn't seem to be bothered by the state of his undress.

"Poor Leontina. She's jealous again," he snickered and she cast him a venomous glare but both bowed slightly to the Leader and left the room without any protest. When the door closed and Draco noticed that the man is turning towards him again he quickly looked away, groping his wand in a sweaty palm. He glanced at a huddled figure of the young girl who sat on the floor forgotten.

"Make yourself comfortable, Draco, I'll be right back. Then we will talk," whispered that amazingly soft voice and the young blond couldn't fight a shudder. A cold finger touched his chin in a mock of caress. Then he drew back, approached the girl on the floor and seized her into his arms.

"It will be just a minute," he chuckled and before Draco could say a word, before he could even try to comprehend what's going to happen, the Leader pulled out a wand and with a slight smirk on his face disappeared.

_**R&R**_

**Author's note:** Wow. I really enjoyed writing this chapter. There's a big revelation in the second part, I hope it explains some things and maybe brings some new questions. Perhaps you have an idea now, who the Leader is. Let me know if you like it or not. Your opinions are more than welcome!


	16. Never give up

**Never give up**

_Drip._

_Drip._

_Drip._

Like the ticking of a clock marking out time, water dripped noisily. Harry half-sat half-lay propped against the rock and his head lethargically hit the stone behind him. It was over. He was too exhausted to keep on trying to get out of this frosty cell. He rather let his thoughts wander back to the past and ended up thinking of the battle of Hogwarts as usual. Where did he make a mistake? He had no clue. But if he didn't make any, why is Ginny... No! Don't think of her AGAIN! He squeezed his eyes shut and forced his memories to go further back to the moment when he lay in the wet grass, pretending to be dead and Voldemort was pacing around him, mocking him as always. But he had friends by his side at that time. What Neville said when Voldemort asked him to join him? He said he'll do so when hell freezes over. He should be here at the moment. Or – rather not – he would have to join him.

Harry raised his heavy eyelids and looked at the Dark Lord who sat on _his_ boulder again, doing something what he couldn't see because of the distance. Honestly, he didn't really care. They've been avoiding each other for hours now, partly because of those previous embarrassing events. Harry admitted he made a fool of himself and Voldemort simply took that advantage. There was no reason to dwell on such stupidity, but the anger, which boiled deep inside, was making him restless. It was the only source of stamina he could still feel. He desired revenge, even if it should be something pitiful and pathetic.

"Get a grip," Harry muttered and forced himself to get up. He knew that his action caught a proper attention. Leisurely, he stalked towards his enemy. The cold glare fixed on his face was nearly palpable as he approached the man. Once he stopped within the reach, Harry leaned down to show that he's not afraid of him anymore. No, he didn't fear him in the slightest. It was almost pleasant to have that vacant place where his dread should be. Harry wondered what is going to fill the gap.

"I hate you," he hissed and watched how the slit pupils of his enemy's eyes dangerously narrowed.

"Get out of my face, brat," came a chilly reply.

Harry straightened up, keeping his glare.

"I despise you," he snarled, hoping that Voldemort would attack him again, so he can get relief from the emotional straint.

"The same to you Potter. You're nothing but a bipolar dunce."

Well, that wasn't exactly what Harry expected.

"What?-!"

"No proclamation of love today?"

"WHAT?-!"

"Idiot."

Harry seethed in fury.

"Are you mocking me again?-!"

"Get lost, Potter. Your voice is annoying."

Harry leaned down again and clenched his hand into fist in front of Voldemort's face.

"Fight me," he growled, pushing the pale chin in an inkling of a hit.

Cold fingers curled around his wrist in a steel grip.

"Fight me!"

The chilliness seeping from the touch caused a shiver running down his spine.

Voldemort bared tips of his pointed teeth as his mouth curled into a wry grin, however remained silent.

"Don't you wanna see my dead body?-! Look, I'm still alive," Harry spat, leaving a trail of his saliva on the latter's livid face.

"FIGHT ME!" he roared, getting his second fist ready for a punch.

"WHOOOAAAH!"

Harry's poor eyesight completely evaded Voldemort's movement, until he was thrown into the air, hitting the opposite wall painfully.

"Gosh," he groaned when he slid to the ground, his legs shaking madly. Once he caught his breath he stood up clumsily. His left hand subconsciously rubbed his sore nape and shoulder.

_Where the bastard gotten so much of power? Hang on! He's controlling his magic again! He's pretty dangerous now. _

The raven haired youngster felt worse than before. Not only that he failed to get revenge; he had also lost a hope to get some in the future.

"That's all you can do?" he challenged the Dark Lord who was once again seated on the boulder, looking disinterested.

Harry stumbled forward.

"I'm talking to you!"

Finally he received a response in a form of a cold mirthless laughter.

"Why don't you give it up already, Potter?"

Harry raised his chin in a rebellious manner, his eyes flaring.

"That's what you want, isn't it? You want to see me on my knees! You want to see me completely broken, right?-! Now let me make this clear! IWILL NEVER GIVE UP, REMEMBER THIS! I was in far worse situations than this one and I did not surrender! There's no way I'm going to do it now! You don't want to help me? – FINE! You can't stand my presence? – FINE! You want to be left alone? – FINE! WHO SAID THAT I NEED YOU FOR ANYTHING?-!"

Harry's throat felt very sore, but it was worth the relief he felt. Yep, it was nearly as good as a duel!

Voldemort kept on glowering at him from his privileged spot and all he said was: "Your voice's annoying, brat."

But Harry ignored him and bolted into his 'slot', climbing up the wet wall, grasping a stone and digging into crackled surface.

He will not give up if only to see Riddle's disappointment!

He will not give up!

He will NOT give up!

Not! Not! Never!

Harry gasped for breath, feeling lightheaded from the lack of oxygen. His fingers were still unhealed and hurt as he clutched at the stone, but he was not willing to let it go.

Someone else's presence suddenly broke the silence, which was previously filled only by his raspy breathing.

"You made it farther than I thought, Potter. It's quite surprising I admit."

The young man's eyes went wide and he spun around to face the intruder.

"What ... are you doing here?-!"

If Harry could tell Voldemort expression was rather sly.

"I'm merely curious."

His cat like eyes carefully regarded the streams of water gurgling on their way to the bottom of the slot.

"Not a chance," he whispered quietly, but Harry decided to ignore it as he already screamed.

"Get out of here at once! This is _my_ slot!"

"Don't be a fool, Potter. Besides, not so long ago you have invited me here."

"It was before you refused my suggestion!"

"What if I reconsidered my opinion?"

Harry scowled.

"Not very likely. Why would you do that?"

Voldemort pressed his back against the wall, looking for a more comfortable position as he tilted his head above the depth.

"It's rather simple, brat. As far as I know there is only one special thing about you, which I've never really seen through. It's your undeniable ability to survive nearly everything – especially the things which are lethal for anyone else. So when The-Boy-Who-Lived says that this is the way out, then who am I to argue with him, even though I'm convinced that it's only a very nasty way how to commit suicide? If you can survive this Potter, then I can as well."

Harry blinked. And then again. What the heck was going on?

"Are you ... trying to imply that you are willing to accept my terms?"

Voldemort jeered at Harry's unconcealed surprise.

"Your enthusiasm is ... _catching,_ Potter. Hopefully your luck is as well."

Harry finally realized that he's gaping at him but somehow couldn't take control over his astonishment.

"Are you serious?" he asked disbelievingly.

The Dark Lord snorted and for a reason Harry wondered how could anyone make it sound so noble.

"Always, brat. We have an air for a few more hours. Though I could live without it substantially longer than you, it would not increase my chances for rescue in any way. So if you wish to drown so much, then better be it this way."

"You may be wrong," Harry said quietly as the anger was leaving him completely and he looked up at Voldemort as if he saw him for the first time. Well, he didn't see anything new; however he could feel the atmosphere changed dramatically. He caught a quick glance of blood-red eyes before Voldemort righted himself and placed his palms on the cold stone above.

"You'd better not stick to false hopes, boy, and rather get ready for possibly the last bath of your life."

*****

_London, the Department of International Magical Cooperation_

_19__th__ December 2000, later that night_

"You've killed her," Draco whispered throatily, refusing to look into the Leader's face ever since the moment he re-entered the room. It was just the same like the last time when he was back in Romania. He stared at the girl's cold, unmoving body and the only thing he could see was the memory of empty shells of his comrades. They were dead before he could wake up from a shock. Fortunately, before he met their fate he managed to say his name and whom he's working for. Till that moment the Leader's attitude radically changed. Still nothing could change the fact that he was frightened in his presence nearly as much as he was scared of the Dark Lord.

The quiet voice chuckled softly and disrupted his thoughts.

"Well, what about it? Why does it bother you my boy? You're a Death Eater, right? Isn't your job to kill as many muggles as possible whenever you have a chance?"

"No, it's not, you _bloodsucking_ _freak_," he mumbled for himself, staring into the ground.

He registered a quick movement by the corner of an eye, but it was too late to do anything, The Leader was too fast. Suddenly he appeared behind him, one hand snatching his neck while the other held his fist with a wand in place. The soft vice spoke again, while the cold breath tickled his ear.

"You remind me your dear serpent Master. I remember he used to call me this way. But once we're joined you'll become also my servant. You'd better watch your tongue."

Draco squirmed, trying to get free from the icy constriction.

"What are you talking about?-!" He struggled a little harder. "Get away from me!"

Sharp teeth scraped the back of his neck.

"Oh, yes Draco, it's only a question of a short time till your Master joins _me_. He will learn soon enough how to appreciate my point of view. I'll make sure of it."

Draco's eyes started to water in fear as he felt the cold mouth move to the junction of his neck.

"Please ... please, don't do that. Don't," he whimpered weakly.

The chuckle was no longer soft; it was cold. Freezing.

"You're not very brave, are you? Oh my young wizard, you have no idea how you are tempting me."

The mouth moved back to his ear, petrifying him completely. He couldn't move, only listen.

"It's rather difficult to be a vampire nowadays. Honestly, I find no fun in drinking muggle's blood anymore. It's like water. It may stifle a thirst, but there's no taste, no smell. Wizard's blood is something completely different. Well, you for example have a spice of sweet milk. Sort of a dull flavour as well, but I could find it quite amusing after spending weeks on a muggle diet."

Sharp teeth broken the thin skin of his earlobe and a cold tongue licked several drops of blood seeping there. Draco couldn't take it any longer. He felt like he's going to faint any second independently of how much he wanted to stay consciousness and attempt to escape.

"But the Dark Lord's taste is stunning. Unforgettable. Tasting that energy and power made me feel very _alive_. It's better than Firewhisky. He's truly worth my attention."

Draco had no idea whether he was frozen from horror or shock. The grasp on his hand and neck loosened up and he slumped down, trembling uncontrollably. Several minutes passed before he could quietly whimper.

"You... You ... did ... bite ... him?"

A shadow fell over his face. Draco looked up fearfully. _How a vampire could cast a cloud over anything?-!_

"Yes, I did. Are you surprised?"

_Why the Dark Lord didn't kill him__ for that offence?-!_

"Why are you telling me this?" he gasped trying to get up, but failing completely. "He's going to kill me for what you've said to me!"

The Leader looked nearly sad as he knelt down to him, caressing his face softly.

"Oh, no, I don't think so, Draco. Don't be afraid. He needs you. Once he knows I'm here he will need everyone he's got left to keep him away from me. But it's not going to be enough. I want you to tell him this. Tell him that I came to retrieve him. He will know what I mean." The two sapphires bored into his grey eyes as the Leader straightened up. "Of course we must wait until he miraculously reappears. I know that's what you came to tell me, anyways. It's obvious that he's still missing. But he will be back, I'm sure of it. There's no way how that ridiculous boy – Potter is his name, right? – could defeat him. So once he's back, give him my message. Until then you're welcomed to stay – besides you must gather some information about me to report him, am I correct?"

Draco shook his head, to clear his mind and finally forced himself to get up. His ear ached painfully, but that was not the reason why his face was wet from tears.

"You're not the person the Dark Lord wished me to invite for negotiations," he said vacantly. "You are not the Vampire's King!"

Beautiful features of the latter's face curved in slight surprise and disappointment.

"Oh, but I am boy. I'm the Leader, the Eminence!" he spoke aloud, making his voice echoing in the room. "Though you're right at some point. I'm not the same person whom the Dark Lord intended to work with. I took his place – which is only natural in vampire's society. But don't worry about that. You'll learn to enjoy my presence."

Draco clenched the wand in his palm, pointing the tip at him.

"The Dark Lord's going to kill you. And I'll be punished if I let you go like this without any fight! _Sectumsempra_!"

Several things happened at the same time. Draco finally completely awoke from his callous state to remember that the Leader _actually has a wand_. That should be impossible. Vampires aren't allowed to use wands _and_ their magic isn't supposed to be working with these instruments. The Leader was clearly an exception, because he drew the wand out of his sleeve with an incredible speed and blocked the curse, which was another impossible thing. Third, he pointed the wand at him and casted a curse, which only a wizard can use. How did he do that...?

"_Crucio!_"

Draco completely lost a track of his thought as an incredible pain devoured him completely.

And he screamed and screamed before the darkness finally came over him.

_**R & R**_

**Author's note:** Sorry for a late update. Currently I'm very busy. Next chapter is going to change some important things. You'll see. ;-)


	17. Time for heroes

**Time ****for heroes**

**Author's note:** I'm _**so sorry**_ for such a late update. Instead of coming up with some snivelling apologies (Voldemort hates them anyway XD) I'm giving you an extra long chapter. (Oh and as usual, sorry for mistakes, I'm trying my best!)

Before a chapter begins I think it's a time for a short recap:

Voldemort and his army lost the Battle of Hogwarts and they were forced to flee. Ginny died. Two years later the Dark Lord duels Harry, both desiring their revenge. Before he can kill the boy an accident happens and they find themselves in a subterranean cave without their wands. In the meantime, the Ministry of Magic is corrupted by influential pureblood families which are greatly displeased by increasing liberty of muggleborns. Eventually, the Minister for Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt is replaced by Dolores Umbridge and her new reign begins. Umbridge chooses her advisers; the most important of them is a person, who refuses to introduce himself. He's known as the Leader. Dolores has no idea about the secrets of this man, who can be as dangerous as the Dark Lord himself. Harry's friends also have a lot of work to do. They need to find Harry and save him and they must find a way how to stop Umbridge who they suspect to collaborate with Voldemort. They don't know that Umbridge is already far ahead of them. She has her own plans concerning Harry Potter and the Dark Lord. But her highest adviser (the Leader) might not be as reliable as she thought.

**Warning:** Some swearing in this chapter (but not much).

*******  
**

A tall skinny figure elegantly slid down a wet wall and approached a dirty young man who sat crouched in a damp corner.

"It's done."

"What?" Harry gasped for air, trying to inhale remnants of oxygen.

"There is only one left, Potter. The last stone I have to break before the water breaks in."

The raven haired youngster looked up, blinking as some mud got into his eyes. He sighed. What should he say anyway? Yeah Voldemort, you were right, there's no way we will ever make it to the surface, or you are quite correct Riddle, we are going to drown here? There was no way he would ever say that, he would rather bite off his tongue, but in the end he didn't have to say anything, the silence was more than eloquent. Both knew what's going to happen.

"I cleared a channel into the cave so when water gets in, we can always retreat."

Voldemort snorted quietly.

"Do you really think that the cave is going to save us?"

"No," Harry mumbled blankly and shrugged his shoulders. Everything seemed to be better than waiting at the moment – even if it should be fighting for a dear life. "Just do it already."

The Dark Lord turned to stare at Harry. He disliked his sudden passivity.

"Strange, Potter, I somehow expected you to say something else before you die. Something like 'I'm honoured to perish as long as the evil will cease with me' or similar nonsense true to your famed heroism."

Harry took in another weak breath and returned the glare.

"Unlike you I'm not afraid of death ... _cough_ ... _cough_ ... though..."

Voldemort quirked his hairless eyebrow.

"Though?" he asked.

"I don't want to die! Maybe that's the reason why I'm still fighting you after all those years. I simply enjoy being alive even with you destroying every stupid little piece of happiness I've ever had!"

Strangely enough Voldemort didn't mock him or sneer at him as he would do on any other occasion. They stood in silence for a short while, listening to murmur of water, before Riddle spoke again.

"It reminds me I've never asked you about your last wish."

Harry blinked in surprise.

"Since when you ask your soon-to-be victims about that?"

He heard another quiet snort.

"Only my prominent enemies," was a silent reply, maybe not intended to be heard, but Harry managed.

"Oh, so I'm your prominent enemy now. No longer a foolish boy who survived by mere luck?"

"You're both."

Harry pondered about it for and then he spoke.

"Tell me yours first."

"What?!"

"Tell me your wish Voldemort. Because regardless of your conviction, your chances of survival aren't any better than mine."

Harry heard noises indicating that Voldemort was approaching him, but refused to look at him on purpose.

"Your impudence knows no boundaries, Potter."

Harry nodded, rubbing his sore fingers.

"But if you insist, there is something I'd like to know," the cold voice spoke again, much closer.

Harry finally met his gaze with interest. After a quick staring contest Voldemort looked away and he spoke softly.

"Tell me what happened in the Forbidden Forest. I know you know it, boy – but the truth remained hidden for me. How could you survive my killing curse? How could you defy every known law of magic?"

Harry couldn't say whether he was or wasn't surprised by the question. Voldemort might have asked anything at the moment and he chose this. He was clearly in the conviction that this must be the power he according to prophecy knows not. Eventually, Harry approved Voldemort's curiosity. Who knows, maybe the Dark Lord was right. The prophecy might have been about that piece of soul which Voldemort unwittingly gave to Harry when he was only one year old. No doubt it was a crucial ability to look into the Dark Lord's mind and understand it. It nearly made Harry a winner. _Nearly._

The raven shook his head and let it go. Prophecies are too inscrutable to think that you are ever truly able to comprehend them. Besides, it didn't really matter anymore as he was no longer Voldemort's Horcrux. He didn't see a reason to keep it secret henceforth.

"I could have thought that you are not going to give me an answer," Voldemort whispered icily, seeing Harry's dismissive gesture.

Instead of a reply Harry grasped the Dark Lord's hand and ignorant of Riddle's protests he pressed the long fingers against his scar. He was so cold, soaking wet, that the digits didn't even felt chilly against his skin. Harry's lips curled upwards at the sight of his enemy's face. To say that Voldemort was thunderstruck was an understatement.

"What are you doing, Potter?" he finally asked in a superior voice, once he successfully covered his consternation.

"I'm giving you an answer," Harry said serenely.

Confusion swept over Riddle's face before it was replaced by anger. He tried to jerk his fingers off, but Harry didn't let go of his wrist.

"Potter, what the hell are you...?"

"Don't you find something strange about this?" Harry interrupted.

"Besides everything?" Voldemort hissed, his eyes blazing in fury.

"I mean, I'm not screaming in pain, am I?" he asked and smirked as Riddle scrunched his eyebrows together. "Why do you think I used to be suffering so much in the first place?" he pressed, satisfied as he saw the Dark Lord's endeavor to disclose this puzzle.

"I though you were undergoing some sort of mental trauma," Voldemort spoke coldly, but the confusion was still slightly apparent. "But what it has to do with anything, fool?"

_Genius as you sometimes are, you're the fool here,_ Harry thought but he said something else aloud.

"Whatever you thought, you were wrong. I assure you the pain I felt wasvery physical and nearly insufferable. It was the ache of something forcefully tore out of its natural essence, dying for reunion but never allowed to. It was _your_ pain I felt."

Voldemort froze, but then he quickly jerked his hand away. Something deep inside was nagging him that he understood what Potter was talking about, but he refused – he absolutely refused to believe it.

"Potter...?"

"You've never realized what I was to you, right? Because if you did, I'm pretty sure you wouldn't have been trying to kill me _that_ much."

"Explain!"

"I assure you I've never really defied any law of magic. Something died that night, but it wasn't me, Voldemort. It wasn't _me_!"

"No..."

"How can you explain I knew where your Hocruxes were? How can you explain that I could look inside your head despite of any distance? And what about the strange link we shared? Do you really think that I'm such an accomplished Legilimens? No Voldemort, I'm not and I'm pretty sure you know about it! It was you who told me everything I needed to know – or, more specifically, that _fucking piece of your soul_ inside of my head did! That one, which you killed that night in the Forbid..."

"ENOUGH!"

Harry felt his body being lifted and thrown against the rock. He felt a sharp pain in his back at the impact and from his lips escaped an involuntary cry.

"LIAR!" Voldemort screamed again between raspy breaths, his magical aura was blazing uncontrollably.

Harry raised his chin, trying to keep his composure intact, breathing as heavily as his opponent.

"Just look at me Voldemort." _Gasp._ "The answer is right there. Look into my eyes," _Gasp._ "And you'll see I speak nothing but truth."

The long fingers grasped his collar and raised him off the ground, so he stood only on his tiptoes. He watched Voldemort bare his teeth, saw his fury and an urge to break his neck, but behind all of this he saw pure fright. Harry filled his lungs in a desperate manner with oh so needed air and stuttered out.

"Don't you see ... what you've done to yourself? How far ... you intend to go in quest for power? Clearly behind the point where you can kill yourself and don't even realize it. I ... really feel sorry for you."

Voldemort slammed him back against the wall.

"How dare you say something like that, Potter! That's _absolutely _impossible! I would never...!" he choked at lost of his breath.

A denial in his voice was painfully obvious. _Serves him right, bastard_, Harry thought before speaking again.

"How can you say that when you don't know?-! You didn't feel anything when your Horcruxes were destroyed, did you? It seems that's a prize you paid for pushing the boundaries of soul magic further than anyone would dare to go. How can you say then what is possible and what's not?"

After a long while, when Harry simply dangled in the air gasping for breath, he finally noticed the grasp at his collar is slowly slacking. Ultimately the pale hands let go of him completely and Voldemort staggered backwards. For some time he could hear nothing but their ragged breaths.

"So," Voldemort finally spoke, "all you are trying to tell me is that I unintentionally made you my Horcrux, which I also ... destroyed by myself?" His voice was as close to be broken as Harry ever heard it.

"Yeah, you're getting my point. I think it has something to do with the part of our prophecy saying 'neither can live while the other survives'," he whispered, suddenly uncomfortable to see Riddle like that.

Voldemort's right hand made a jerky movement and fell back on the cold stone as if trying to find lost balance.

"If this is truth, Potter, then you should have lied."

Harry felt his chin drop down in surprise. "Ugh...," he mumbled and watched Voldemort pinch the bridge of his nose - or rather the place where his nose should have been.

"Well, it's your turn now. Tell me what you wish to know," he spoke and his icy voice sounded hollow. The need to forget what was said moments ago was more than evident.

"Um...," Harry's mouth still didn't catch his thoughts.

"There are many things I'd like to know but nothing of it is really important for me at the moment," he said finally. "What I truly wish is to see my friends again. I would also like let the sun blind my eyes for a moment. And I wish to watch the fireworks welcoming the New Millennium and I would like to ... bloody hell I just want to get out of here, okay?-!"

Harry watched the dark figure slowly turn his head halfway back and smirk.

"Funny. You spoke as if you wished me to guarantee your survival."

Harry slowly took a step closer.

"Will you?" Maybe it wasn't the best time for sarcastic remarks, but Harry couldn't help himself.

"Insolent brat," Voldemort retorted.

They stood still, regarding at each other and though Harry saw just fuzzy outlines, he no longer noticed hatred in the latter's features. He could only see doubts and determination.

"Well, I think it's time." Voldemort spoke quietly.

Harry simply nodded and watched his enemy climb back upward the slick wall, before he hesitated again.

"Just for your information Potter, you're correct about one thing."

_Only __one?_ Harry thought spontaneously.

"If you had told me you were ... my Horcrux, I would have never tried to kill you." Then he disappeared in the narrow part of the slot and Harry pressed his back against the wall in anticipation.

"Unfortunately, even if I knew it at the time, we both know I would keep it for myself," he mumbled and took a deep breath.

Then he heard a crash which he expected, but what he didn't expect or rather wasn't really prepared to face was a storm of icy water coming from upwards, enveloping him completely. In the following second the soft light illuminating their prison disappeared in a swirl of chilly suffocating darkness.

*****

_A secret base of the Order of the Phoenix_

_Grimmauld Place 12, London_

Ron couldn't sleep. He spent last two hours staring at the ceiling, thinking so hard that it actually made his brain hurt. At first he hoped that Hermione would join him and they would discuss a scheme for tomorrow as usual, but then he realized that she's still trying to translate the letter they found in the Leader's apartment. Oh, how he hated memories from yesterday's night adventure. They were giving him nightmares even when he was awake. He tossed in the bed and placed a pillow over his head, forcing an image of You-Know-Who's portrait out of his head.

So many strange, scary things happened lately and he couldn't get a grasp of them. Hermione said something big is going on; the only problem was that no one knew what it was. Not even members of the Order who still pretended to work for the Ministry. Umbridge's new politics once again oppressed muggleborns and that was something no one from the Order wished to participate in. Interestingly, if muggles were such filth, what they were currently doing at the Ministry? Yesterday his dad told him that he had never seen so many of them there before. Merely and idea of Umbridge requiring or enjoying their company was ridiculous. No, she didn't want them there. According to his dad's opinion, those people came at a request of the Leader. Who's this creepy guy anyway? How could he happen to be Umbridge's highest adviser?

Oh Merlin, Ron's head hurt as if going to explode. But what made him feel even worse, Ron knew that he was still a ministry employer - an Auror substitute - and that idea made him feel sick. He would have to work for enemies, if they required his service. But there was no turning back; he would have to do it. They already discussed the necessity of it at the last meeting of the Order. They've all (except of him) decided that the more of them manage to stay at the Ministry the better. The Order needed to control the situation when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was apparently trying to rise again.

Ron tossed in the bed again.

Of course these thoughts always brought him back to Harry. Where is his best friend? What can he do to help him? How can he rest in the bed and think about such nonsense, when his pal may be suffering in capture? Yeah, Ron was still absolutely sure, that Harry wasn't dead yet. You-Know-Who wouldn't make it a secret. But it only made him more desperate to get up and search for him, even though he didn't know where.

Well, at least Hermione was working hard to find some clue. Ron didn't doubt she'll succeed. Until then he had to wait.

Something cold tickled his heel.

Ron immediately rose in the bed, staring into the darkness.

A small movement again, but this time it touched his ankle. Ron jerked backwards.

"Hermione, is that you?"

Silence.

"It's not funny!"

Ron expected to see bushy hair of his girlfriend and then her soft smile, but the room seemed to be empty. After some time Ron became nearly convinced that he was imagining things. He lay down at the pillow only to jump up again as something _scaly_ swept over his leg.

"Hermione! What are you doing?-! Stop it! I'm not in mood for this!"

Again, no response.

"I've had enough of this," he growled annoyed beyond imagination and grabbed his wand from the bedside table.

"_Lumos._"

A bluish light spread through a small dingy bedroom.

Ron grasped the coverlet and jerked it off himself.

"Gotcha!"

And what he saw made him stop breathing.

You should know that Ron Weasley is not a coward. Yeah, he has his fears, but he can deal with them. He expected to see Hermione, though it wasn't her usual style to tug at his toe or his leg, respectively. He could stand the fact it wasn't her. He would even suffer some stupid George's joke, who would have thought that waking him up in the middle of the night was the best sort of fun. Merlin, he would even endure to see a mouse on the bed sheet.

But what he couldn't stand was a sight of a monstrous snake, which no doubt was big enough to eat him alive, coiling between his legs as it was an everyday occurrence.

Ron had no idea he could produce such a girlish scream.

*****

_London, the Ministry of Magic_

_20__th__ December 2000, 4:00 A.M._

The Leader was pissed off. Tonight was definitely not his night. Just a few minutes ago he found out that he had unwelcome visitors in his apartment and that they made even more unwelcome research through his _very_ personal belongings. They even stole some of his private correspondence! He could still smell their presence there - their mortality, their blood. Freaking magicians, their scent tickled his nose, made his mouth water and tempted his self-control. If he caught them in the act they would wish never to be born. The idea of sucking their necks dry and tearing their limbs apart was entertaining him down the hallway till he came to conclusion that maybe it was better they escaped in the end. Their murder would possibly cost him his privilege to have a direct influence on his sugary Dolores. He licked his lips and smirked. Yeah, luckily her blood was one of those which nearly repulsed him. It smelled just _too _sweet. It allowed him to work in her presence without much restraint (though nose clips would be just fine) and right now he really needed to talk to her about security issues at Ministry.

At the end of the corridor he turned right, heading to an elevator. He suspected Umbridge remained in her office. She's been there since yesterday's evening, reluctantly refusing to be disturbed. But he is going to disturb her tonight. And she might not like it at all. They had an agreement and he couldn't stand to be ignored. He wanted to keep some things in secrecy and he couldn't do that without her consent. Things like hundreds of muggles imprisoned in dungeons for purpose of feeding and multiplying his little army. Of course, this is something Dolores needn't to be informed about, he smirked.

"Dragomir!"

The Leader halted his pace staring at the empty wall in surprise. In a fraction of second he spun around, seething in frenzy.

"_How many times do I have to repeat myself, Leontina?-! I think I told you quite clearly never to say my name again! Not here! It's not safe!__*" _he sputtered, automatically speaking in Romanian (1).

In a blink of an eye she stood before him, smiling.

"_No one heard us.__*"_

The Leader pulled out his wand and her satisfied expression disappeared from her face.

"_So?__*"_

She bowed her head, but didn't sink to her knees.

"_Accept my apologies, Eminence,__*"_ she said quietly and let her ebony hair cover her pretty face. His cold fingers squeezed her chin and forced her to look up into his navy eyes.

"_Why are you still treating me like your child? You disgust me!*"_ he said bitterly.

"_But you are my__ child, love. I made you one of us,*"_ she smiled and reached out to touch his face.

"_It happened three hundred and fifty-four years ago! Can't you just get over it?-!*"_

He pushed her away and sneered.

"_I still love you,*"_ she whispered beseechingly.

"_Leontina, you know that I don't feel the same. __We've talked about it many times. I explained you why I agreed to become a vampire. I seek nothing but power and you helped me to gain it. I'm grateful for it, but that's all. Don't expect anything else!*" _

"_I know you don't love me. You have feelings toward another person.*"_

Though she kept her face carefully bank, her broken voice betrayed her. The Leader only smirked and looked away.

"_Nonsense!__*"_

"_Really? And what about Voldemort?*"_ she asked coldly.

He turned back and met her chocolate eyes, which lacked any warmth.

"_What about him?*"_

"_You lust after his blood for how long – forty years?*"_ she pressed.

"_Thirty-eight. But let me remind you, __it's none of your business.*"_

"_You're so obsessed with him and he wants nothing but to kill you!*"_ she sputtered and grasped his arm when he pulled away. _"Why are you like this, why must you hunt the most dangerous wizards?-! If he hurts you I promise I...*"_

"_Don't be silly! __As if he can hurt me! Besides, I think I clearly told you it's none of your business! Our conversation is over,*"_ he hissed angrily, stepped inside the elevator and slammed door shut right in front of her face.

*****

_In the meantime__, back in the cave_

Harry had never really thought about how he was going to die. Living a life of Lord Voldemort's priority target he could either think about it all the time or not at all. For the sake of his sanity he chose the second option. But now, when he was dragged to the bottom of the cave by water so freezing that it was actually painful, Harry couldn't think of anything else. While his body desperately struggled against the violent stream, his mind was dealing with horrendous images of his parents dying in the flash of green light. Secretly, somewhere at the back of his mind, he was convinced that he will perish just like them, hit by the same invisible train for the third and the last time. There would be no mother's sacrifice to save him, no Voldemort's soul to die instead of him.

But he was wrong. Obviously, it wasn't going to happen like that. Either Fate or Death hated him too much. He couldn't die easily in a way he had already practiced in the Forbidden Forest. No, there had to be those long, freezing knives piercing his body until it cracked in spasms. He had to suffer the feeling of having his life slowly stolen away from him. He remembered this, yeah. He experienced the same pain when he was diving into the forest pool for the sword of Gryffindor. However no Ron was coming to save him this time. He must get out of it alone.

His lungs were on fire, urging him to take a breath, but he was still submerged and the lack of light made any orientation very difficult. Instinctively, he followed upward direction, forcing his body to hold the breath a few seconds longer. And then when he thought his lungs are going to explode, the light returned. It was very faint; nevertheless it helped him to see that he's no more than a foot from a water level. With the last kick of his legs he emerged and inhaled deeply, choking and coughing water from his mouth. Suddenly colds hand grasped his collar in a similar way they did not so long ago.

Harry blinked and realized several things. First, his head was no more than three feet from a ceiling. Second, water was still coming in quickly, making the distance shorter and shorter. Third, Voldemort was holding him and talking to him. He forced himself to ignore an agonizing discomfort in order to remain focused on what Voldemort was trying to tell him. Blustering water made it nearly impossible.

"What took you so long, Potter?-!"

All right, now he understood.

"Enjoying the bath!" he screamed back before choking again as another wave hit him from backwards. Harry thought he heard something like: "Gah, brat!" for a reply, but he wasn't sure.

"How are we going to get outside?-!" he tried again as the distance from the ceiling shortened to two feet.

"Why are you asking me?-! Wasn't this your idea, brat?-!" Voldemort's cold voice broke through the noise.

"Not the best one, I'm afraid," he murmured, but the Dark Lord's extraordinary hearing didn't miss it.

"Obviously!" he growled back.

One foot left. Harry could no longer keep his whole head above a rising level. He started to panic.

"Listen, brat, there might be a way," he heard the cold voice again. Voldemort pulled him a little closer.

"What?" Harry perked up in a sudden hope.

"I'm not entirely sure, but there is a possibility that I made the opening wide enough for us to try to swim through it. However, there are two problems. First, we have to wait until the cave is completely filled with water so we don't have to swim against the stream."

"I think we don't have to wait very long," Harry interrupted, bending his head backward to keep his mouth above the water.

"Second," Voldemort continued, ignoring the interruption, "there is no guarantee, that the space above us isn't just another afloat cave."

"I take the chance," Harry gasped and grasped Voldemort's shoulder for support. The Dark Lord let go off his collar and placed his hands at the ceiling above him to protect his head. They had only few inches left.

"I'll swim first. Follow me," was the last thing he said. They exchanged anxious glances, Harry biting his lips to stop his teeth from chattering. He quickly sorted coldness among the things he absolutely loathed.

Only when there was almost no air left, they pressed their mouths to the ceiling to take in the final breath.

Harry watched Voldemort dive and forced himself to keep the fright under control. _Just follow him_, he ordered himself. He had no other choice. The cave, which became their involuntary home for last few days, was now completely filled with water. It was a time to leave this place for good.

Harry dived as well; keeping his eyes on the Dark Lord, who miraculously managed to leave a trace of light for him to follow. And Harry did. He bit his lip harder and compelled his stiff limbs to move in order to keep the track. Soon they reached an entrance into the slot, which was placed at the bottom of the cave and now they were heading upwards. The stream was still present, but they both could handle to swim against it. As the slot narrowed, their progress slackened the pace.

_What's wrong__?_ Harry thought as they nearly halted. His throat and lungs already started to burn again. He felt dizzy from the coldness and the lack of oxygen.

_Don't panic!_ He reminded himself. And he managed to handle his fear until Voldemort stopped completely.

_What the mother fucker is doing?-!_ Harry thought angrily and aimed his fist to hit the stretched leg. Voldemort kicked back, missing Harry's face narrowly. Finally he moved, slowly at first, but getting quicker until he suddenly disappeared.

_Hang on – disappeared?_ Surprise helped Harry to suppress the urge to breathe for another moment and he kicked his legs several times until he got closer to what caused Voldemort so many problems. He reached the narrowest part of the channel. It was an aperture which the Dark Lord made by his bare hands. _Very small aperture._ The panic was back and hit him by a full force. Harry didn't understand how Voldemort could ever squeeze himself through it. But he did. It had clearly something to do with Voldemort being a walking skeleton. But Harry wasn't so skinny. He can never...

Everything was clear now. Harry almost laughed if he weren't so desperate. It was Riddle's intention, of course. He made it wide enough for him to get through, but too narrow for Harry. It was a very clever and very Slytherin way to get rid of him. Harry should have expected something like this; he shouldn't have been so surprised. He was more than familiar with ways of killing the Dark Lord preferred. Lot of torture, but no blood. Harry had numbers of personal experiences.

The urge to breathe turned to be nearly insufferable. Harry lost all common sense and launched himself into the crevice, all too soon noticing that only his head and the right arm went through. His fingers desperately reached after the slowly disappearing trace of light.

_This is it, I'm going to die._ The realization was so horrible that Harry couldn't hold back a scream, but it only made him lose most of the precious air he still had had in his lungs. He tossed and squirmed; bending is limbs as far as they could go in hopeless attempts to get through the aperture. Now he was completely trapped, he couldn't go back and couldn't go any further. He felt the stone tearing his skin, however in his state of mind no pain came. Dizziness grew exponentially.

_Voldemort won in the end. I lost. Ron, Hermione, I'm sorry. Forgive me. I love you..._

Slowly he bent his head backwards, opening his eyes and mouth, unable to hold his breath any longer. And then he saw it. His mind was going blank and he was no longer able to think clearly, but from the sharp shapes and fluent movements of a dark figure approaching him, Harry guessed it could only be Death coming for him at last. A sudden shine enveloped him and though he was cold and suffering, he wasn't afraid anymore. An ultra pale face leveled to his, lipless mouth above his own.

Yeah, it's Death for sure, he thought as he gazed into the blood-red eyes, his own slowly closing.

"Breathe you idiot!"

It was the impulse his body was waiting for. He inhaled reflexively and felt a warm air enter his sore lungs. His body nearly arched in an intense pleasure and relief. Harry closed his eyes firmly and took another deep breath and another. Soon he was gasping as if he just finished a marathon. Slowly he started to remember things.

_How can I breathe__ when I'm stuck underwater? _

His eyes flew open and he yelped in surprise.

_Voldemort. Voldemort has his face an inch from mine. Voldemort came back__ for me. What the heck...?_

"Are you sure you really want to be an Auror, Potter? Even if you can't remember something as primitive as a Bubble-Head Charm?"

Harry didn't have energy nor spare brain cells to feel insulted. He merely exhaled loudly before he finally realized that his mouth and nose were buried in Voldemort's personal air bubble.

"I ... I...," he stuttered at complete loss of words.

"Wh ... why? Tom?"

"Take a deep breath, brat," Voldemort retorted and as Harry did so he let go off the boy's face (Harry didn't even realize before, that Voldemort was holding him) and moved away.

Harry's terror was back again.

_Is he going to leave me and let me drown? Did he return only to see that I'm helplessly stuck here? Did he swim back only to be sure that I can't make it? Yeah, that would be very much like him. __Bubble-Head Charm... Quickly! I must remember! Bloody hell my brain is overloaded!_

Something cracked. Harry though that it had to be his back from the struggle to crawl through the crevice, but then he became aware of the fact that he can move his body again. Now more than half of his chest made it through. Finally he saw the reason why. Voldemort's hands were touching the rim of the aperture, breaking the stones in the way. It was the moment when something clicked in Harry's brain and his eyes went impossibly wide.

_What the hell is the__ bastard doing?-! IS HE TRYING TO SAVE ME?-! WHY?-!_

Harry pulled out his other arm and tried to grasp the hem of Voldemort's robe, but it slipped through his fingers like a snake. Suddenly Voldemort stopped his endeavor, looked briefly at the confused youngster and quickly moved up towards the water level.

_NO!_

Harry couldn't believe it. He was so close to get out of this deathtrap and now was the Dark Lord leaving him here. Harry wasn't willing to give up now; he only needed to get his ass from the constriction and he would be free. Luckily he was a slender young man and he didn't have much trouble in succeeding. Still he felt as if his jeans and skin were ripped on several places as he pushed himself through. Finally his legs were outside as well and he didn't hesitate a second and swam upwards. It was difficult, because his arms and legs felt more like logs than limbs. He couldn't sense coldness anymore; his body gave up any effort to keep an adequate bodily temperature. As he was nearing the surface, only three things kept him alive. First, it was burning in his lungs (he couldn't be possibly frozen, when his lungs were burning, right?). Second, it had to be an adrenaline in his veins, which made his blood still flow. Third, it was a question scorching his mind.

_WHY?-! WHY?-! WHY?-! WHY?-! WHY?-! WHY?-! WHY?-!_

He knew he can't rest until he learned the answer. He had to know why Voldemort tried to save him. There was nothing more important at the moment. Not even dying.

He emerged with a loud cry, taking in deep breaths of frosty air. It was pleasure and pain at the same time. Once he was able to speak he screamed.

"Voldemort!"

He looked around, but he couldn't see anything so he decided to swim blindfold in some unspecified direction.

"Where are you bastard!-?"

He kicked something hard and reached in front of himself. He felt a stone.

"Voldemort!" he screamed again as he climbed out of water

Silence. Only that irritating voice in his head was repeating the ultimate question.

_WHY?-! WHY?-! WHY?-! WHY?-! WHY?-! WHY?-! WHY?-!_

Harry huffed.

"Hide as you wish, bastard! Sooner or later I'll find you and then you will have to answer me!"

_**R&R**_

(1) Sorry, I don't speak Romanian. I hope you don't mind it's in English! = P

Every sentence in Romanian is formatted _italic_ and marked *


	18. Riddle's tale

**Riddle's tale**

_Southern England__, somewhere in a limestone quarry._

_20__th__ December 2000, 5:00 A.M._

"Voldemort!"

Harry's throat was already sore from crying the name of his rescuer. It couldn't be longer than few minutes and yet he felt like he was sitting on the frost covered stone forever. His teeth chattered and he didn't even try to stop it. He knew he couldn't last long with his limbs quickly turning numb and senseless. His heart was beating erratically in a desperate effort to move his cold blood.

"Goddammit! Just answer me! You haven't drown you freak, have you?"

But the Dark Lord didn't respond and Harry suddenly felt as if something long forgotten erupted back into life in his stomach, stirring and coiling upwards, trying to venture stifling emotions. Was it the little monster in his chest, which he considered to be dead for good? He was certain he felt it perish in an ear-piercing roar when Ginny was hit by a killing curse. The raven-haired boy let a rush of rightful ire deluge him. Why does he feel like that? Why is he afraid that the murderer of his parents didn't make it? Why his stupid chest monster has to react like this for him of all the people?-! How he would love to rip it out of his thorax and throttle it with his bare hands.

Harry choked as he tried to suppress a sob. It was outrageous how weak the Dark Lord made him feel. Why the hell did the bastard come back for him? It didn't make any sense. He simply needed to know the answer. He was sure it was the only way to soothe those feelings humiliation and disgust.

He sighed and pressed his knees closer to his body to regain some warmth.

"Potter."

A bony hand suddenly clasped his shoulder.

Harry would have screamed in surprise, weren't it of that lifeless voice saying his name. Still his whole body twitched as he spun around and faced an equally black darkness.

"Riddle?" he muttered and reached out to grasp something corporal, but the other man was out of his range.

"Do not ever... call me that ... again, brat!"

If Voldemort indented to threaten Harry, then he failed. The young man didn't even consider being afraid of him at the moment. He was dealing with more acute problems such as a) his inner monster purring in content at Voldemort being alive b) an absence of light showing how weak and spent the Dark Lord was c) the way how he was supposed to ask the ultimate question which still tormented him. Eventually he gathered his courage and spoke.

"We made it. We made it outside and it's only because of y..."

Harry didn't have a chance to finish the sentence. His attempt to say his thanks was crossed with a skinny body, which fell right on his shoulders, making him yelp in pain.

"Hey! Ouch! It hurt! Watch where you're going!" he grumbled beneath the mass of black, soppy robes.

"Shut your mouth and hold me," he heard a cold hiss in his ear.

"What?-!" he protested once he felt a frosty hand snake between his chest and knees where he held a poor residue of his body heat.

"I said HOLD ME!"

Cold claws dug into his pectoral muscle.

"Did you bash your head or what?-! Aren't we enemies? Just because I did it once it doesn't meant..."

"Potter!" Voldemort cut across him again. It was the desperation in the older man's voice which actually stopped his objections. Harry was torn in half. The last thing he wanted was to help the Dark Lord but still there was that awful life debt which prevented him from refusing to offer an attendance.

He sighed in defeat.

"Very well, come over here. I know you are freezing."

The Dark Lord didn't hesitate a second. After a short argument about their positions (which quite ridiculously ended with Harry wrapped in Voldemort's arms) and several unsuccessful attempts to dry their garments (eventually Harry wanted his pullover back but Voldemort refused even though it was soaking wet), they hushed up. Harry felt his embarrassment grow in silence. After what could have been half an hour he was so abashed that even his frozen cheeks started to turn pink in the faintest inkling of a blush. It was when he couldn't take it anymore and spoke.

"May I have a question?" he asked as politely as he could manage when talking to Voldemort.

Riddle had to notice it because he stiffened and slightly turned his head, which till that moment rested on Harry's right shoulder. He remained silent, whether on purpose or lack of things to say, the young man didn't know.

"I was wondering..." Harry began, but paused to clear his throat in a nervous cough. This is it. Finally he's going to ask it. His mind was reeling.

"Spit it out, Potter," he heard an encouragement he was looking for.

"Why did you come back for me?" he stammered out quickly before he could change his mind.

Voldemort hesitated for a moment and then breathed out quietly. That was the only response Harry received. It only tempted him to ask more.

"You should have let me die. I...I don't understand it. There's nothing you want more than my death!"

The silence was quickly getting on his nerves. Harry wished he knew some way how to make the Dark Lord speak. Fortunately, before he could think of some drastic method, he heard Voldemort's cold voice whisper a reply.

"There is something I want more than killing you."

Harry's chin literally dropped down. Did he hear correctly? Never before has it occurred to him, that Voldemort could desire something more then seeing his corpse and - God forbid it – that he would willingly admit it.

"Er ... eh ... that's sorta interesting... And may I ask what is it?"

_Is this really my voice?_ Harry briefly thought when he heard himself croak the question.

He expected Voldemort refuse to answer him so he was surprised when he received a retort.

"Don't get any weird ideas into your thick scull, brat! I hate you and I want you dead! I did it only because I wanted to stay alive! It's that simple, dolt! Why do I even bother to tell you something so obvious?"

"Hey!" Harry barked, monumentally offended. "It doesn't really explain anything!"

"Idiot!" Voldemort seethed, evidently pleased that he can vent his stress in another argument with that insolent brat.

"Use your brain Potter! Do you really think that I'd be still alive if you didn't share your body heat so willingly with me? No! I could have watched you drown but then I would die! I would freeze to death! I had a choice and I decided that a few minutes of victory aren't worth it! Whether it was a good choice I don't know yet."

Harry needed a minute to restart his heart from another shock. Voldemort had to be seriously ill when he was saying all of this so openly. Or maybe he was trying to tell him something else between the lines. Something he didn't want say aloud at first, but Harry's lack of understanding made him voice it.

"I wasn't saving you Harry. I was saving myself. As ludicrous as that sounds, you are pretty good at keeping me alive; either as a Horcrux or as _a hot-water-bottle_. "

The young man ignored the taunt and slowly nodded. He was taught for years to understand this man and now was a perfect time to use this knowledge. "You surely expected that I won't refuse to help you if you saved my life."

"Finally you see my point," Voldemort whispered maliciously.

"You were absolutely right," Harry whispered and received a nod as an answer.

"But I don't care."

"What?-!" Voldemort hissed and his claws dug a little deeper into Harry's torn, dirty shirt.

"I don't care about your reasons to save me. The only thing that matters is that you did," Harry said, making his chest monster happy. He felt even better when he heard the Dark Lord hiss and sputter incredulously.

"Are you trying to make me mad on you, Potter? Because if you do, you're doing a very good job."

Surprisingly, Harry only shook his head.

"Not really. I'm only trying to thank you. And I mean it."

Voldemort stared at the boy, his red eyes burning holes in Harry's temple as he expected the boy to start to laugh and scream: 'You fell for it!'

When nothing happened he snarled in disgust and defeat.

"Potter ... I really should have killed you long ago."

*****

_London, the Ministry of Magic_

_20__th__ December 2000, 6:00 A.M._

_Knock. Knock. Knock_.

Dolores Umbridge turned in her rosy armchair and glared at the door in disapproval. Who could possibly ignore her direct command? Didn't she clearly say that she didn't want to be disturbed until lunch-time?

Her thick fingers resolutely swept over the smooth wooden object in her palm.

"Come in," she barked and carefully hid the Elder Wand in the hem of her robes. She had been practising magic with her new toy since she came back from the quarry, where Potter and You-Know-Who were condemned to rot together.

Hinges creaked quietly as the door swung open and a tall, hooded figure elegantly stepped in her office.

"You," she breathed out soundlessly and her lips twitched in a nervous manner before she sweetly twittered.

"Good morning, Leader."

The person silently nodded.

"Tea?" she asked and offered a cup from a golden tea-tray. She noticed that the only part of his face visible – his lips and chin – shortly grimaced in distaste.

"No, thank you," he replied courteously.

She smirked and sipped the warm savoury liquid before she spoke with a false syrupiness.

"What can I do for you, my friend? Do you always work this early in the morning?"

"There is an urgent matter which needs to be solved immediately," he said without another formality and stepped closer, tilting over her polished table.

Dolores pressed her thin lips together. There was always something intimidating about her highest advisor and she still couldn't puzzle it out. All the time his presence emanated some sort of coldness, making her a little itchy. And she didn't like anyone having this sort of control over her.

"Have a seat," she chirped, offering another of her sugary smiles.

It was his turn to twist his lips into a smirk and he gracefully slid into a comfortable armchair (still having the same awful pink colour) opposite to her. Umbridge remained silent, politely waiting for him to speak. She pretended to be relaxed, but a firm line of her tightened lips said otherwise.

"I do not wish to waste your precious time, Minister," he began pleasantly, folding his hands over his chest. "I believe we can solve this business rather quickly."

"I certainly hope so. Now, what's the matter?"

The Leader took his time to smooth folds on his ancient-looking robe, before speaking in a low voice.

"It didn't occur to me that you could possibly have thieves here on your Ministry, Dolores."

Umbridge finally started to pay a full attention to what he was saying.

"Thieves?" she asked doubtfully. It was an outrageous accusation. Only Aurors had a direct access to the private residences and by saying that he implied that some of her people had robbed him.

"Yes. A very important document was stolen from my apartment. I can hardly describe how resentful it makes me feel. But I'm certain that my people can take a proper care of it. It is imperative for me to notify you of their actions though. My subordinates would surely prefer if the Aurors were informed in advance before undergoing an interrogation."

This was exactly one of the moments Dolores loathed. The way how he decided to do something without her assent, merely announcing his resolution as if she had no other choice but to agree with him.

"I assure you Leader that I can take care of this delicate situation. There's no need for your people to get involved," she spoke bitterly. Her attentively built facade of fluffy sweetness was slowly crumbling away.

"They are already involved, as I am," he said, ignorant to her obvious exacerbation.

It was the moment when Dolores felt he was crossing a short borderline of her patience. She was just about to rise from her armchair and explain rather loudly that she won't tolerate this kind of treatment when the door opened again. It has been simply too much. Another intruder stepped into her office and he didn't even bother to knock at the door or introduce himself! Dolores opened her mouth to scream in fury when she suddenly ran out of breath and colour in her face as well.

A pale young man dressed in long black robes strode towards her table without saying a word. He stopped right beside the Leader who looked all of a sudden seriously irked. Not that Umbridge could confirm it in his face, but the change in flow of his aura was a way too drastic. But she paid only minor attention to her advisor as her field of vision filled the blond with an ashen, pointed face. It was Draco Malfoy.

_A Death Eater_.

A Death Eater in her office looking as composed and comfortable as if his presence was an everyday occurrence.

Maybe the Leader was right. The security had serious issues. She froze in shock, which turned out to be a good thing, because otherwise she would miss what he said.

"I have a message for you from your Lady, _sir_."

Leader's hand twitched in a spasm.

"Leontina," he snarled quietly after a pregnant pause. "She sent you here right? Anything to get at least a small revenge."

Draco distractedly dragged his feet when he noticed that Umbridge awakened from her stupor and pointed her wand at him.

"What is this?-! What's going on?-! What a Death Eater is doing here?-! Where are the Aurors?-! Is this one of your men, Leader?-!"

The youngster ignored the woman's screech and rant in order to speak to the hooded person.

"Your Lady says she knows who the robber is."

Leader ignored him. Furthermore, he even paid no heed to Dolores and that definitely required strong nerves. He seemed to be fascinated by a sight of something. Umbridge finally noticed it as well, because she abruptly shut her mouth and glared at the men. The Leader slowly rose from his seat as a grim silence settled around them.

"Information about the thief can wait for a moment, Draco. There's something more ... imperative I need to take care of. You may leave. Oh, and tell Leontina that I'll make her pay for this."

Young Malfoy seemed to be uncomfortable to be ordered around. However he was more than happy to leave the Leader's company. Whatever argument was going on between him and Umbridge wasn't his business. He turned on his heels and strode out of the office without a single look back.

By the time Umbridge pointed her wand at the Leader's tall, hooded figure. It left him completely unfazed. He nearly seemed to be amused by the way how her stubby fingers repeatedly contracted and loosened around the stick.

"What a nice wand," he chuckled.

Dolores felt a cold perspiration covering her skin around her collaret. The way how he leered at her made her knees water. Issues or not, she seriously started to consider an option to call security.

"Tell me, Leader, do you often hang around with Death Eaters?" she asked as evenly and sweetly as she could manage, but her attempt to distract him was unsuccessful. He kept his fierce look and she immediately wanted hide the wand somewhere safe and never show it to him again, but it would leave her defenceless and she couldn't afford it.

"I know this masterpiece," he spoke all of a sudden. His eyes must have been glued to the object in her palm all the time.

"I had a pleasure to use it once ... long time ago. I would recognize it even blindfold. It's the Elder Wand, also called the Wand of Destiny." His voice turned colder, however still kept its silky quality. "As far as I know, its current master is Harry Potter. But the owner - the keeper of the Elder Wand is ... _was_ no one else but Lord Voldemort."

"You ... you just said _his_ name!" Umbridge sputtered in shock and disgust, her fear shortly forgotten.

The Leader straightened his shoulders and glared down at the toady woman. His aura slowly filled a cold rage.

"Say, Dolores," he proceeded in a dangerously soft voice, "wouldn't you like to inform me about something? I'm curious to know how you managed to lay a hand at this treasure. Maybe you often conduct trades with the Dark Lord. Let me guess - he surely found your wand much more interesting than this one." His voice contained beside a threat also a killing dose of sarcasm.

Umbridge's swollen face turned purple except of several white flecks and her little eyes bulged in her eye sockets. The hooded man seemed to care a cuss about her reaction. "But I understand," he continued in neutral voice, "Sometimes even Voldemort offers _irresistible merchandise_. Would you arrange a meeting with him for me? I'm tired to hang around with his Death Eaters only."

"H ... how DARE you?-!" she screeched and finally jumped off her chair, punctuating the action with stamps of one foot, but it didn't really make any substantial impact. "I will call for Aurors and let them lock you up for the rest of YOUR PITIFUL LIFE!"

He remained unperturbed.

"Ah, Dolores. You know nothing of me. Admit it," he spoke softly and the air was suddenly freezing. "Have you forgotten that it was me who set you free? I was forced to put a half of Wizengamot under my direct influence to obtain this goal, are you aware of that? You do not wish to be my enemy; or else you may find yourself promptly back in Azkaban. For the rest of your pitiful life."

Umbridge would never admit it, but at the moment she was as close to be scared of him as never before.

"Where is Lord Voldemort?" the Leader asked in a way making her hand with the Elder Wand tremble.

"He's dead!" she sputtered suddenly, her breath hitching in her throat. "I made sure of it!"

"_Where_ is he?"

Though his voice stayed calm, she caught a short gleam coming from his furious navy eyes which shined with a strange inner light from beneath his black hood.

"I'm not going to tell you!" she yelped, hoarse and rattled. Her palm with the Elder wand was completely sweaty and her elbow was wobbling form side to side. When he chuckled mirthlessly and approached her without a warning, she panicked and cast a first curse which came to her mind. The light flash tore his clothes and his skin, making him stop.

Her lips immediately formed a vicious smile as she enjoyed a short moment of victory. But the Leader didn't moan in pain, didn't crumple to the floor in agony. He merely looked at his revealed flesh as if he saw something particularly interesting before he turned back to the highly surprised Minister for Magic.

"Now, now, you really shouldn't have done this, Dolores. It's very rude." He raised his wand which suddenly appeared in his hand and she backed to the wall staring at him in confusion. The wound was healing before her eyes with an incredible speed and all of that without a single drop of blood.

"_What_ are you?" she croaked in consternation, her voice long lost sweet and false tone. Leader's smirk grew wider as she pressed her back against her beloved pictures of kittens.

"Now that's the crucial question, Dolores, isn't it? However it's my turn to get some answers. But before I do, I would prefer if you don't remember any of this in terms of keeping our _friendly relationship_."

Umbridge's mouth moved idly. She couldn't believe this was truly happening. When he raised his wand, fright paralysed her.

The last thing she though before void covered her senses was how incredibly thick she was to believe the freak before her.

"_Obliviate._"

*****

_The limestone quarry, Southern England_

_20__th__ December 2000, 6:00 A.M._

"I wonder where we are," Harry spoke suddenly. He was still a little nervous to stay silent and do nothing but suffer the Dark Lord's close presence.

Voldemort didn't assess it worth a reply.

"This must be another cave," the young man kept his monologue. "Only a lot colder than the previous one. But there is a fresh air; we must be closer to the surface!"

His companion was once again in his silent period, but Harry didn't really mind as long as he felt him breathing. Or at least he hoped he felt him breathing, because the rhythm was so slow that if Harry kept this rate he would be long dead from the lack of oxygen.

"Tom? Talk to me," he spoke to him. "Try to resist the rest...You're still with me, right?"

"Spare your sentiment for some who wants it, Potter. I'm not going anywhere. Not before you at least."

"Good. Tell me something then. Whatever, I really don't care. I just need some distraction."

A cold skin moved against his.

"You don't find our position distracting, brat?"

If Harry wasn't half frozen, he would surely feel a rush of heat in his cheeks.

"Now that you mention it I wonder whether I die of cold or embarrassment because both are nearly agonizing."

Voldemort made a quiet snort of amused disgust.

"I've sent many people to death and they did not complain half as much as you do now. Obviously, you are absurdly brave only when you have someone to die for."

The youngster snarled at the offense.

"Shut up! As if anyone sane would dare to complain before you! By the way, if this was an attempt to make me feel better then you are doing a shit job of it!"

"I'm not here to make you feel better, Harry."

"Oh Merlin, how could I forget? You're such an asshole! Why did I even ask you anything in the first place?-! You're still the same insufferable prick!"

"I think I would be immensely pleased to rip that dirty tongue off your mouth at the moment."

"Bastard," Harry hissed and Voldemort almost smirked in reply.

"Oh, yes. Never forget, boy, how much I wallow in nastiness and cruelty! When I think about it, maybe there is something I can tell you," he said and contemplated it for a short while. "You are still so obsessed to know everything about me, right? I can grant you new information; it's not likely you let anyone know. The chance we get out of this alive is, in fact, insignificant. So listen carefully."

Harry bent his head so his ear was at the level of Voldemort's mouth. This way he could hear the silent words better.

"It happened during winter, 1940. I was looking forward to spend another Christmas at Hogwarts but it didn't go according to my plan at all. Just one day before holidays I learned that the school was going to be temporarily closed because of bombing. Hogwarts, of course, weren't a target for Nazi air forces; instead the Ministry yard in Central London had been jeopardized. For that reason all departments had to be moved underground in the shortest time possible. The Minister for Magic applied for the teachers' assistance as well and since they acquiesced, I had to pack my bags and return to that filthy London's orphanage. You wouldn't believe Potter, how badly stupid muggles and their pitiful conflicts affect wizarding world."

"Pitiful?" Harry choked quietly.

"Don't interrupt me, brat."

"Huh, s-sorry."

"Every man with a common sense was trying to get out of London and yet I was forced to go back. I was locked in my cell, listening to sirens announcing bombing raids, and all I could wait and starve. The old hag Cole never took me down to the shelter. She had always forgotten about me on purpose."

Voldemort paused for a second as if recalling the events.

"What I remember best is lying under the cot, clutching my wand and thinking whether I'll be quick enough to cast a spell to protect myself if the bomb hit the building. I simply knew that those idiots from Ministry would expel me from Hogwarts if I panicked and cast it in advance. The thought of never coming home again was ... unpleasant."

Harry was close to be stunned; still he managed to nod imperceptibly as Voldemort paused for another brief moment. Harry knew very well that the only place where Riddle felt home were Hogwarts. He surely had to be desperate.

"I detested the orphanage," the Dark Lord spoke again, "a murky place crowded with pathetic weeping children who despised me and I loathed them because I was different and they failed to accept my superiority."

The youngster strived to stay silent, surprised by a level of emotions Voldemort was capable to evoke in him. And it wasn't only hatred.

"There was never any food left for me. They enjoyed stealing my rations and so I stole their things in return. Every night I had to sneak outside and rob some shop to get something to eat. Every morning they caught me and punished me for it and I couldn't fight back, because they would come for me and break my wand and I would never see Hogwarts again."

Now Harry felt a slight guilt. He used to think that there weren't worse Christmas than with Petunia, Vernon, Dudley and Marge sitting at the same table with him, ignoring him or scolding him. He was wrong. He could at least _eat _a dinner. _Sometimes_.

Voldemort didn't even have that.

But this was also surprising. For the first time Harry realized that Riddle was forced to spend an essential part of his childhood in a constant fear for his life. Intrigued, he listened as his companion continued to revive his past.

"It was then when I decided to kill my father."

Harry's breath hitched in his throat by the way the Dark Lord said it. His voice was blank and completely uninterested, as if talking about weather.

"That thought kept me sane. I imagined all my schoolmates spending the holidays with their families and then I imagined my father sitting happily alone, ignorant to the fact that I'm alive. So I planned his murder and it helped me to survive. It made me stronger."

Harry shivered.

"But...?"

"Do not interrupt me, Potter!"

"R-right."

"When I came back to Hogwarts I began a very long research. I went through every accessible document concerning history of my famous family. It took me two years until I found out about the Gaunts living in Little Hangleton. I hoped they would tell me about the Riddles, so I could revenge my mother's death and with any luck be accepted by my _noble_ family. I paid them a visit when the school year was over. Surprisingly, I found only my uncle living there ... and I must say I was rather unimpressed. Let's say he didn't meet my expectations." The tone of Voldemort's voice proved that he was far more than only disappointed.

"He wasn't very thrilled to see you either," Harry mumbled.

"Really?"

Harry felt Voldemort turned to face him. He immediately grew nervous even though he couldn't see anything.

"And how do you know about it, brat?"

"Er ... don't get mad, okay? You know, Dumbledore managed to obtain a true memory of your encounter before Morfin died in Azkaban for murders that you had committed. He showed it to me."

Voldemort scowled.

"Meddling old fool and his little Golden Boy. I've been secretly waiting for you to start to talk about him for quite some time and here we go at last."

"But you aren't mad, are you?" Harry asked hopefully.

"If my hands weren't frozen onto your back, I'd be throttling you."

"Is that a joke?"

"I never joke, Potter."

"Oh. Eh... Never mind. Sorry for the break."

Harry felt that he was being glared at and for the first time enjoyed absolute darkness around them.

"Very well. I'll skip the episode with Morfin and get to the point, which is _Tom Riddle_ and his parents."

Harry immediately noticed excess of disgust in Voldemort's voice. He nearly asked 'What's the big deal? You murdered them just like many others', when he suddenly remembered something. It had to be the first time when Voldemort killed anyone. In addition, it was a triple homicide. So he stayed silent, waiting to learn more about his enemy.

Voldemort was quiet too. For a moment he seemed to be considering something. Finally he decided to speak and a following sentence surprised Harry greatly.

"The odd thing was, Potter, that no matter how long I had planned to do it, I wasn't very excited by the idea of their slaughter at first."

"You ... didn't want to kill them?" Harry choked.

"Not really. I remember walking down an empty hall of their mansion toward a drawing room where I heard their voices and I was thinking about possible excuses why I couldn't do it. If Tom Riddle weren't there that evening I think I would let it go. I would have wished him to die painfully one day, that's for sure, but I wouldn't pursue it anymore. I think I might have even spared him if I found him in the house sleeping, reading or doing anything sensible. I would have crucioed him senseless, turn around and never come back. Maybe. But the moment when I entered the drawing room, everything changed."

Harry remained quiet in a tense anticipation.

"All three of them were sitting by a dinner – and they were _laughing_. Soon it was clear that they planned a wedding. _My filthy muggle father_ couldn't wait to get remarried. He was talking about some muggle bitch - his future bride. I stood in a doorway for a while, watching them eat meal I couldn't even dream about, listening to their cheerful conversation and suddenly everything was incredibly simple for me."

Harry realized with a slight shock that he was digging his fingers into the other man's shoulders. He could hardly imagine what Voldemort felt at the moment. After many years of loneliness, oppression and vain hopes he learned the horrid truth. His family didn't care about him. His family wished him to be dead rather than bother them with his existence. They didn't want him, they were happy without him. Harry bit his lip until it hurt. Yeah, the Dursleys hated him as well; they never accepted him, except the shortest moment of understanding between him and Dudley few years ago. But he knew from the beginning that he had lost parents, who (as he hoped) cared about him and lately he learned they really did in the purest way. He was ready to find a new family and friends and offer them the same. Voldemort never got this chance. He never believed in love because he never received any. Both of them might have dreamed of this feeling as kids, but as Harry learned his parents loved him above anything else, Voldemort was forced to face the fact that his father despised him and his mother wasn't even willing to stay alive for him. What emptiness could it leave in his soul?

"My _grandfather _noticed me first," the Dark Lord spoke again. His voice was frighteningly even. "He screamed something about intruders; I don't quite recall what it was."

Harry clenched his teeth and leaned closer so he could hear the rest.

"I stepped into the light so they could see me. To say they looked astounded would be an understatement. _My grandfather_ awoke first from their stupor and yelled at me who I am as if it wasn't obvious – as if he wasn't informed about my existence. Well, if my being was irrelevant to him, then his life was unsubstantial for me the same and I put an end to it without a second thought.

My _dear grandmother_ started to shriek in hysteria. I recall that her voice was ... annoying. She called me names like kids from the orphanage. Freak. Monster. So I showed her what it means to be a monster. The silence then was immensely pleasant.

And _my father_ hadn't said a word. He just sat there, holding a fork with well-done piece of a roast beef, staring at me as if I were a ghost. Almost as if he was expecting me to come for him, but not that soon. I briefly wondered what should I tell him but there wasn't really anything to talk about. So I said: 'It took you sixteen years but you finally made me happy, Riddle.' And I killed him. It felt _so _good. I've never felt this way before. I will never regret doing this Potter. You asked me once to feel remorse, but I will never regret my deeds and decisions. I don't care you think I am wrong and evil because all I do feels right to me. Eradication of my _filthy muggle family_ helped me to overcome my last weakness and become more powerful. It helped me to become Lord Voldemort!"

Harry felt his insides twist in nervousness and slight disbelief. So this is how it happened. He knew he should say something, but he was completely speechless, merely gaping into the darkness.

"By the way," Voldemort added as an afterthought, thought extremely important, "their dinner was really appetizing. I have never eaten such delicatessen before, not even in Hogwarts and that's worthy of note for certain."

Harry took in a deep, shuddering breath. Everything slowly started to make sense. He could see it now. Voldemort unwittingly gave him an insight into his deepest _human_ desires which were gradually replaced by twisted and cruel dreams of endless power and control. He surely said this story to make clear that he's still the same sick and heartless bastard who is able to slaughter anyone without a mercy. Whatever happened between them (like saving Harry's life) shouldn't change anything about it. He had no idea that in the end he nearly proved a direct opposite.

Because he, the Heir of Slytherin, just admitted that the last weakness he had to overcome was a desire to be loved.

Harry felt like an idiot. That was why Voldemort wasn't ready to kill Tom Riddle senior and his grandparents when he first came into their house. Somewhere deep inside he had to be secretly praying for one of his families to adopt him. Morfin refused him resentfully so he had no other choice but to visit his father; a man who he had been waiting for since he was a child. What would happen if Tom Riddle senior lifted his county ass from a chair once he saw his own son? If he came to him, hugged him and told him he regretted leaving him alone? If he promised him he would make it up to him? Would Lord Voldemort be forgotten forever? Would a new Heir of Slytherin try to find more understanding between Slytherins and the other houses? Would it mean the end of that absurd but persisting enmity between purebloods and muggleborns? Regretfully, no one knew the answers because none of it happened. Voldemort's father remained seated and silent; being the same snob and coward he used to be when he ran away from his family. It was only understandable that young Tom MarvoloRiddle couldn't bear the feeling of being hated or pitied by everyone anymore. So he killed his family to ease off the poignant pain, damaging himself more than he was aware of. Even when he had been feasting upon their meal, enjoying the sweet revenge, his previously intact soul was crumbling away in silent agony.

Harry gulped idly at a sudden burn in his throat.

Merlin, how he understood this! Before he knew he was a wizard he was also alone, hated, without friends or anyone to talk to. He remembered how it felt like. It was a dark endless abyss he was falling into and he couldn't stop no matter how hard he tried. What would happen to him if Hagrid didn't miraculously appear that night on his eleventh birthday, telling him that there was another world, where he – a small and unimportant boy – was a hero loved and admired by nearly everyone? It was the big hand of his first true friend which stopped his fall. He and then Ron and Hermione were the ones who dragged him back into the light, showing him true kindness and affection. What hellish life would he live if they didn't show up? He didn't even dare to imagine. Maybe he would fall all the way down to the bottom, just like Voldemort did.

The burn multiplied and forced its way upwards, making his eyes water.

Suddenly he clearly remembered Dumbledore telling him that the Dark Lord knew nothing of love. Now he was surprised by the way he accepted it as a fact without any question. Why didn't he ask Dumbledore what was the reason? Why has he never thought about it before? Harry suppressed a strong urge to laugh out bitterly. The answer was a way too simple. He acted like that because he hated Voldemort above anything else and he couldn't care less about his feelings. It was the way he dealt with people he resented. After all, Snape was an eloquent instance of this treatment.

Severus Snape - a Death Eater who condemned his parents to death. Yet he was also a man who risked his life for him and saved him more often than anyone else. He taught Harry a necessary lesson that everything is not always the way it seems to be. Snape made him open his eyes and see that he was not always correct with his judgements on people. He showed him how powerful love can be, making a Death Eater his ally only because of someone's memory.

And now Harry had a new saviour. The last person of all people who could have possibly saved him. And still if it weren't of this emaciated creature holding him in his arms, he would lay dead at the bottom of the cave. He would be like one of those horrendous Inferi who attacked him several years ago when he was on a quest to destroy a certain dark lord - someone who just saved his life.

Where the hell was a difference between Snape the hero and Voldemort the monster now?-!

The shock of this realization was unspeakable. Riddle's selfish reasons for Harry's rescue were suddenly insignificant.

"Are you dying already, Potter?" a cold voice suddenly disrupted his musings.

Harry was far from ready to give some coherent answer.

"Huh?" he managed.

The feeling of being stared at returned.

"You're unusually quiet and tense," the voice explained without interest.

"Unlucky for you, I'm still alive," Harry retorted, finally grasping the conversation.

"Your death wouldn't make me lucky right now," came a clipped reply.

Harry felt like drowning in confusion.

"Er ... well, yeah ... it's obvious ... otherwise you wouldn't rescue me, would you? Still I'm shocked to hear you say something like this."

"That's understandable. However, you've forgotten about one crucial detail, brat. I said _right now_."

"Oh."

"Yes, Potter. Oh."

Harry felt his lips inadvertently curl into a tiny smile.

"Neither would it make me happy if you died _right now_," he whispered. The chest monster awoke again, purring contentedly.

There was a short and awkward pause, before Voldemort whispered.

"Have I just heard affection in your voice, Potter?"

"No way!" Harry yelped horrified, though he wasn't completely sure whether he implied something or not. But the Dark Lord seemed to be lulled down by his answer.

"Good. I don't think I would be able to stand it."

The smile on Harry's lips spread wider. Dumbledore was right again when he said that Harry's greatest weapon against Voldemort was his ability to love.

"What's so funny, you little brat?-!" Voldemort hissed, his voice growing colder with rising rage.

Harry's grin disappeared in a split second.

"H... how can you tell I'm smiling?" he choked, his eyes bulging. "Do you see something...? Hang on..."

Harry blinked furiously several times, before he finally realized that he was able to recognize some shadows in the dark. But the only way he could see shadows was when some light was forming them.

"Are you doing this?" he asked somewhat breathlessly.

"No, Potter, I'm not."

"Then what is it?"

A mirthless chuckle resonated in his ear.

"A dawn, maybe?"

"Rubbish! How can we see a dawn, when we are in a fucking cave?-!"

"Think, you idiot," Voldemort said even more quietly.

_Easier said than done with __my batteries completely flat_, Harry though somewhere back in his mind, while the most of his attention was fully focused on careful tasting of a chance of finding a passage outside and being free. Seeing sun. Seeing his friends. Buying dozens of Big Macs. Eating them at once.

"Merlin," he breathed out finally, "if this is true..."

His voice couldn't cope with a sudden rush of emotions. He forcefully squeezed the narrow chest he was embracing until Voldemort growled in discomfort.

"Watch your enthusiasm, Potter!"

The Dark Lord might have wanted to say something more, but the flow of his thoughts was disrupted by Harry's violent earth-shaking and ear-deafening scream of joy.

_**R&R**_

**Author's note:**Finally I have this chapter done! I hope that I managed to explain properly why Voldemort decided to save Harry. My goal is to avoid excessive OOCness. I would love to know what you think about it.


	19. From smoke into smother

**Author's note: **First of all I would like to thank to my reviewers for all those lovely, encouraging reviews (except of one, but I already apologized many times for my not very brilliant English). I'm sorry that my updates aren't very fast. It's mostly because every time I write a chapter I must reread it, then rewrite it and finally post it. And then I have to slam my head against the desk and ask myself 'how could I leave there so many mistakes?' Sorry. Please don't be like me and don't slam your head against the desk once you read it. :-)

Secondly, I must apologize that the next chapter may not be finished within fortnight. I'm currently very busy at my work, so please be patient, I promise I'll try to update soon.

*****

**From smoke into smother  
**

_A secret base of the Order of the Phoenix _

_Grimmauld Place 12, London_

_20__th__ December 2000, morning_

"Ron! RON! Would you please stop sulking and finally climb down from the cupboard?-!"

"No!"

"Come on, Ron! There's nothing to be afraid of."

"I said no! And don't talk to me like that!"

The resolute rebuff wasn't surprising at all. Ron's 'no' was a routine answer by now. Hermione shrugged her shoulders and sighed as she sat down to a shabby dining table. It had been several hours since her boyfriend scooted out of their bedroom screaming 'bloody murder', then climbing up the cabinet and refusing to come down. Since then, she, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, George, Percy and even Kreacher searched the house twice from the roof to the vault. No huge snake with a murderous intention was found.

Well, at the beginning they all took it very seriously, especially Mrs. Weasley, who repeated over and over 'I told you so. I've seen the monster before. It definitely wasn't a boggart.' Even Hermione thought for a moment that Voldemort somehow broke through their wards and spied on them. It scared her more then she was willing to admit. When she and Mr. Weasley together combed the house for any trace of alien magic, her thoughts wandered back to the most frightening moments of her life. She was once again in Bathilda Bagshot's dirty, fetid bedroom, fighting Naginy with all she had and then Harry was screaming 'he's coming', he grabbed her hand and they jumped out of the window. Before that, just a for a split second, she saw a dark figure flying over the room, the ultra pale hands grasping the window-sill and the scream of fury as they twisted in the air and disappeared.

Only twice before that her death was so close. The first time was the encounter with Basilisk, she still felt creeps when she remembered the sight of the monster's shining eye in her hand glass. The second was a duel with Dolohov at the Department of Mysteries. Voldemort's bestial servant was replaced by a human one, though equally dangerous. Then the third occasion was when they met the Dark Lord in person. Hermione couldn't understand how Harry managed to face him and fight him without fainting from terror. Because she would faint from fear, that's for sure. Even Bellatrix, a personification of pure insanity, hadn't been that scary.

Her fingers slipped into the pocket and found a rumpled piece of paper. Hermione pulled it out and carefully unfolded it. It was the letter they stole from the Leader's apartment, the only clue which, as she believed, could lead them to Harry. It was a final proof that the Leader worked for Voldemort or at least cooperated with him. Still, he didn't necessarily have to be the person who wrote it, but according to Hermione's logic it was enough that he kept it.

In general, the content of the letter was rather strange. The sender was assuring the Dark Lord that he will visit him soon with his army so they could settle the things. The other part of the letter concerned Draco Malfoy. Hermione couldn't quite understand the text here, though she puzzled out that the writer (most likely the Leader) was satisfied, even amused about something. And then he was worried about Harry being still alive, suggesting Voldemort to kill him as soon as possible.

Hermione gave it up at that point. She couldn't completely finish the translation without full knowledge of the language. Her universal dictionary wasn't always helpful. Mostly she was only guessing. Yet, from all the things she managed to understand it was the last sentence in English which made her stir in curiosity.

_**By the way, I'm sure you'll be thrilled that I'm sending you this letter back.**_

_**See you soon, D.L.N. **_

Hermione read it over and over again. Why she had a feeling that she was missing something important? What does he mean by saying I'm sending you this letter back? Thoughtful, her fingers carefully swept over the paper – yes, a paper, not a parchment, thought it must have been quite old – and it felt familiar. She was proud of herself to have such a perfect memory. She could recognize most of the books, paperbacks or scrolls by mere a touch if she read them before. And she surely touched this one once. Originally it had to be in some book, because the left side was jagged as someone forcefully ripped it out. But somehow, no association appeared in her mind as her fingers carefully groped the texture. She waited for a memory to come, hoping to see a book jacket flash before her eyes, but for some reason she couldn't remember anything. Fed up with her incompetence she sighed again, focusing on another mystery instead.

D.L.N.

Whose are these initials? Do they belong to the Leader? They should if he was the one who wrote the letter, but what if he didn't? Hermione decided that he did, just to move from the standstill. It seemed to her that today will be a perfect day to sneak in the Central Wizarding Library and search the literature for some bad guy coming from Romania, being friends with dark lords, having an awful habit of wearing a hood all the time and calling himself Leader or D.L.N. She was confident that once she cleared this up, finding Harry won't be a big problem. She nodded resolutely and began to fold the letter again, when she suddenly stopped. There, at the right bottom corner some words were imprinted into the meek paper. Hermione tried to read them against the morning light.

"V... Vax ...Vauxhall?" she mumbled for herself, scrunching her eyebrows in confusion.

"Hermione!"

Her tousled hair fell into her face as she snapped to attention, nearly dropping the letter. Quickly, she put it back into her pocket and turned toward a grinning face of George Weasley.

"Oh, our two turtle-doves are together again! I didn't expect anything else. But why aren't you with Ron on his perch?"

"Drop it, George!" she snapped and folded her arms over her chest.

"Fine," he snickered, "just for your information, we have an unexpected visitor."

"Who is it?" she asked immediately.

"You'll see," he blinked and turned toward his brother. "Hurry Ron, we won't be waiting for you forever."

"Not going," came a grumbling response.

"_Come on_, whiner, or you'll fall asleep again and dream about snakes instead of your sweet girlfriend!"

While Hermione was busy to cover her blush, a red-haired head with equally colored cheeks appeared above them, looking down from the cupboard.

"It wasn't a dream!" he sputtered infuriatingly.

George quickly congratulated himself. He managed to turn them both into beetroots without using any sort of magic. However before he could reply Hermione spoke in a soothing voice.

"Ron, it's all right, really. Come down, please."

"No!"

"Don't be childish!"

"NO!"

"It's hopeless," Hermione sighed and turned toward the exit.

"Do you think so?" George chuckled. Hermione immediately had a feeling that something bad is coming. "I think it's a time for desperate measures. Ron, this is the last warning."

"Leave me alone!"

"George, what are you..." Before Hermione could finish the sentence, Ron's older brother grinned, pulled out a wand and pointed it at the cupboard.

"_Serpensortia multiplex!"_

On that instant the cupboard was full of snakes of different colors and sizes, hissing and coiling and sneaking in the youngster's clothes.

"GEORGE!!!"

In a split of second Ron was down on the floor, screaming and chasing his brother who was already on the way downstairs.

And all Hermione could think at the moment was...

_Finally._

*****

_London, the Ministry of Magic_

_20__th__ December 2000, 7:15 A.M._

"Don't worry, Dolores, I won't let you stay like this all day, though you would deserve it for lying to me about _my dear friend_."

The Leader looked at the still figure partly hidden under the table, staring blankly at the ceiling. He stretched his back a little and made himself comfortable in her armchair.

"Actually, I think it's time for me to leave. I must greet the Dark Lord; it's been some time since I last saw him." He paused to chuckle quietly. "You surely understand," he whispered and leaned for a pile of parchments at her desk.

"Well, this was certainly an entertaining session. Pity that you won't remember any of it."

He chuckled again.

"It was also very illuminating thanks to these reports on the Battle of Hogwarts. I've always wondered what Voldemort did wrong back there, so I could learn from his mistakes. You know, young Malfoy was too scared to talk about it, which is of course understandable. Speaking about his master's weaknesses isn't very healthy for a Death Eater. But what he doesn't understand is that I'm far better in controlling my temper and power then Voldemort. I have additional three hundred years of experience in this area. This is the reason why it's so much better for the Dark Lord to join me then the other way around. I bet you see the difference," he spoke lightly as if enjoying some unvoiced joke. His fingers delved into the parchments and picked up one.

He skimmed the text quickly, suddenly looking more serious.

"Though I have to admit that some things surprised me greatly... There is this very disturbing dialogue, very disturbing indeed..."

His eyes turned to read several lines, though he already knew what they say.

_**...**_

_**The Dark Lord: "Who are you going to use as a shield today, Potter?"**_

_**Potter: "Nobody. There are no more Horcruxes. It's just you and me. Neither can live while the other survives, and one of us is about to leave for good." (*)**_

_**...**_

"No horcruxes," he whispered quietly and touched his lips distractedly with a pale finger, while his other hand played with the Elder wand on the table.

"Hmph ... it would be foolish of me to use this wand now... Patience is a virtue," he spoke to no one and nodded.

"Very well, I guess I must be going Dolores. I had a great time, really." Within a blink of an eye he was kneeling by the absent-minded Minister.

"_Finite Incantatem. Rennervate_."

Umbridge immediately stirred and looked at him in confusion.

"Leader? What just happened?" she asked confused.

"I'm afraid you fainted, Dolores. You shall take some rest," he spoke calmly and helped her on her feet.

"Yes, I don't feel very well," she mumbled and quickly pulled her hand away from his ice-cold fingers. "What did we discuss?" she asked as she tried to overcome her dizziness.

"Ah, nothing important, everything is taken care of. If you excuse me now, I must leave. I have an urgent appointment. See you later, Minister."

He didn't wait for her answer and with an incredible speed disappeared down the corridor.

Umbridge stared dumbly after him and then touched her sore temple. Her sight eventually fell on her table where on a pile of parchments innocently lay the Elder wand.

She felt kind of ... lost.

*****

_The limestone quarry, Southern England_

_20__th__ December 2000, 7:30 A.M._

Harry was dazzled. Literally. Bright morning light found its way through the aperture above them, filling the cave with its shine. Harry shut his eyes tightly, then blinked several times until he was able to adapt to radiant brightness. Some time later, he realized that his eyesight wasn't so horrible under intense natural blaze. He could even recognize some details in his nearest surroundings. It didn't matter that he was freezing and starving, he still took his time to admire the beauty of sparkling icicles and mesmerizing patterns of frost deposit on boulders around them.

"Isn't it wonderful?" he spoke quietly and laid his head back on the bony shoulder.

"I wouldn't call the reason of my suffering wonderful, Potter."

Oh yeah, evil-tempered Voldemort was still with him. But Harry didn't care anymore – or at least not as much as at the beginning. He was happy he wasn't alone. He was content that he could hold someone in his arms.

But most of all, he was rejoicing to be free. Honestly, Harry couldn't wait to get up and hunt for something warm and edible.

"What are we still waiting for? Let's go!"

Voldemort pressed his face closer to Harry's neck and hissed irritably.

"As I already explained to you, I'm not going anywhere yet. Firstly, it's still too cold and secondly I'm not in mood to meet some snarky Auror on patrol."

"Do you think they are watching us?"

The Dark Lord snorted.

"That's exactly what I expect. Though, their attention may not be at the best. They surely think we are already dead."

Harry bit his lip. Could he trust Voldemort's convincing words? And even if Riddle was right, he actually wanted to meet a patrolling Auror and ask him what his problem was.

"So what do you suggest?" he inquired finally.

By the way he received an immediate reply, it was clear that Voldemort spent some time thinking about it.

"Wait until the noon, get outside the wards and try to _apparate_."

Harry choked in surprise.

"Until the noon?-! You must be kidding me! By that time my stomach is going to implode! And how exactly do you want to _apparate_ when you are unable to do something as trivial as drying your clothes (not that I can do any better, but...)! And what about...!"

An extra cold hand at his nape and an irritated sputter in his ear stopped his tirade.

"Try to be a little louder, Potter, I think they didn't hear you yet."

Harry turned his head and looked Voldemort in the face. It was for the first time he did it since the morning came. The Dark Lord was sickly pale and even more emaciated then usual (if it was physically possible). His eyes didn't appear so menacing when the sunlight softened their angry color. They were still pretty impressive, though. Harry couldn't take the stare very long and looked away. Once he spoke, he made sure to sound calm.

"I have no reason to be afraid of them."

The clasp on his neck tightened.

"Really Harry? And why did they want to kill in the first place? Besides, how do you think they would react if they saw us like that?"

Well, now Harry felt really bad and it was getting worse as he remembered that he felt quite fine not so long ago.

"Eh ... I think I'd be dead before I even said hello," he finally admitted.

Voldemort chuckled quietly. "Nice of you to admit truth so easily."

Harry shrugged it off and straightened his sore back. "Whatever. Still, I'm not waiting for a noon. Sorry."

Swiftly he started to disentangle himself from their cocoon of limbs, ignoring Riddle's insults and protests. Once he succeeded and righted himself, he stretched his stiff body. He was surprised how fast the feeling of coldness multiplied. Before the discomfort turned to be unbearable, he made it to the exit to get some warmth into his frozen form. He couldn't wait to bath his skin in the golden shine and let it dry his soaked body. However when the long-waited moment came and he finally emerged from the underground, the sun decided to hide behind heavy clouds. Cold breeze abruptly crept under his fingernails and Harry had to suppress a shudder when he looked around. He was welcomed by a sight of total destruction. And worse, the place seemed to be desolate and empty. There was no army of Aurors waiting for them as Voldemort predicted. Speaking of the wizard, he suddenly appeared behind Harry's back looking thoroughly irked. It made the youngster even more frustrated and ill-humored.

"So, where are they?" Harry snapped.

Voldemort didn't reply. His lips curved in an awful sneer and he stabbed Harry with his well-know glare before turning away and striding down the crater.

"They are not here, right?" the youngster fumed as he galloped after the Dark Lord.

"You lied, didn't you?-!"

No response. Voldemort only seemed to pace faster.

"What else did you lie about, you asshole?-!"

"I warn you, Potter! Shut up while you can!"

Harry started to jog to keep up with the raging magician. It was questionable who of the two was more furious.

"No, NO! I'll tell you what I think! I think that you lied about everything! This is all just a charade, isn't it? It's some nasty wicked way to make me join you! The Aurors has never been there, right? This is your plan to make me believe you, so I would betray the Order and you could kill us all, right? I bet you still keep your wand!"

"Potter..."

"Yeah, yeah! It finally makes sense!"

"Potter!"

"Why would the Aurors want to kill me when I'm one of them? A little flaw in your plan, isn't it?"

"POTTER!"

Harry finally hushed up. Both man stopped and glared at each other, breathing heavily.

"You're both ridiculous and delusional. But, honestly, I don't care."

The youngster's lips curved in disdain.

"I'll show you what I care about."

A second later his fist collided with the Dark Lord's chin. Harry watched the lank body fell into the snow half in satisfaction and half in discomfort. He was so mad at himself. His chest creature protested wildly against this treatment of his savior and Harry could only fume quietly that Voldemort actually managed to wake it up and let it fool around with his feelings.

The tall figure slowly rose from the ground. With a single spidery finger the Dark Lord touched his bruised lip and wiped away a little drop of blood. His gleaming red eyes flashed dangerously.

"As I said, you are just a delusional brat," Voldemort spoke in chillingly even voice. "I don't want you to join me. I wish to see you die. And I wish to see it now!"

And then without another warning he lunged himself at Harry, pinning him to the ground, digging his claws into the boy's jugular arteries. Fingers of his other hand skillfully curled around Harry's twisting them close to the point of fracture. When Harry screamed in pain, he only laughed cruelly.

"If I had a wand, Potter, I won't be playing with you like that; I'd be cutting you alive into little pieces. Unlike you I actually tried to summon it but you may see I wasn't very successful. Do you really think that if I were armed I would let you lay a finger on me?-!"

Harry tossed around, howled until he managed to kick Voldemort right in the spine. It worked surprisingly well. The Dark Lord let go of his neck, twisting in pain.

"Let's finish it now, you bastard!" Harry shouted. He felt dizzy and light-headed from exhaustion and temporary lack of oxygen. "I'll show you how it feels when someone's throttling you!"

Harry quickly straddled the man and curled his fingers around the slender throat, squeezing it forcefully.

Voldemort choked and his eyes almost comically widened. His hand reached Harry's face and as he tried to push him away, his claws left angry marks at the boy's right cheek. It was only few seconds later when Harry felt his muscles slacking. He was too tired to hold his grip anymore.

He couldn't do it.

Worse, he _didn't want to_ do it.

"Damn," he cursed, sat back and wiped his hands into his trousers. Why did they felt to wet and sticky anyway? Distracted, he quickly looked at his palms.

_Blood_. His hands were covered in blood.

"What the hell...!" he screeched and jumped off his enemy.

Voldemort remained lying in the snow, his fingers digging into his chest, breath wheezy and uneven as he stared unseeingly at the sky.

"What did I do?" Harry whispered as he bent down to the terrified face and watched Voldemort's dark blood soak his clothes and trickle down his neck into the snow. "I...I'm sorry ... I didn't want to..."

Voldemort took in a shuddering breath.

"This is ... not ... possible... He's coming..."

"What?" Harry finally realized that Voldemort's lips moved.

"He's coming for me..."

"What?-! Who?-!"

All of a sudden Harry felt extremely anxious. He looked up the sky and saw the dark clouds low enough to touch the treetops nearby.

"Tom?-! What is it?-!" he screamed. An inexplicable trepidation crept up his spine as if something deathly and invisible was gaining on them. But Voldemort pushed him away and the next second he was on his feet, dashing towards the wood, disappearing in its shadows.

"VOLDEMORT! Wait for me you bastard!" Harry screamed, running after him, despite the fact that his legs could barely support him.

_Darn it all!_ He thought resentfully. _What kind of trouble did I get into this time?_

And he was too afraid to learn the answer.

_**R&R**_

(*) For readers who didn't notice, these lines are taken from the last book. ;-)


	20. Reunion

**R****eunion**

_The limestone quarry, Southern England_

_20__th__ December 2000, 8:05 A.M._

The forest surrounding the ruined quarry was surprisingly quiet. Old trees hung down their long branches laden with a heavy coat of wet snow as if they were tired from holding them up all the time. Dark clouds descended to the ground, forming an icy thick mist which swirled around in mysterious patterns. Soon a thin layer of frost covered everything within the reach.

Dragomir silently landed on a half rotten tree trunk of a venerable beech. His body could easily resist the gravitational law whenever he wanted to, just like now. Being a vampire _and _a magician was enough to make him feel like a god. His existence was flawless. He could count on his perfect senses anytime. His eyes never missed anything regardless of a poor visibility. He found the current mist to be a good opportunity to fully use this advantage and appreciate the scene while he searched for his prey.

Soft morning twilight multiplied the peaceful atmosphere of this serene place. It helped him to calm down and disregard intense excitement which began to spark close beneath the surface of his careless facade once he detected a familiar scent.

He knew he had to stay this cool when the long awaited moment of reunion comes.

It's been too long since he last met that prodigious wizard. So many things happened between them and so many problems were left unsolved. It was time to put them right.

Satisfied with the turn of events he carelessly strode down the trunk, plans for an incoming encounter already forming in his head.

Paying no heed to a rather doubtful footway, he was caught by surprise when his sole slipped on a piece of frozen bark. Perfect senses or not, he had to exert himself to keep some balance as he slid down the tree. Gazing up from where he fell and spitting loads of curses completely unfitting for his high repute, he forced his tall body to get up and swept remnants of snow from his shoulders. So much for being a flawless god.

Obviously, even quite an experienced vampire like him had some (irrelevant, of course) foibles which may or may not bother him for let's say next two centuries. So he occasionally ignored minor trifles. And also made a few hasty decisions during his three hundred and seventy four years long existence.

Well, what about it? Unlike him, mortals are erring through their lifetime.

Because the life in its primitive human form was a severe error requiring an immediate remedy.

Dragomir gradually regained his refinement and quickly checked surroundings. He was just about to begin his hunt when a sudden suspicious noise cut in his thought process. In a blink of an eye he hid under slouch branches. The Dark Lord was positively informed about his presence even without him making an excessive noise. His irritation about making such a novice mistake persisted until he decided to push it out of his mind. Besides, the thought of making the wizard nervous was satisfying enough. The longer he thought about it the more his eagerness and thirst grew. At this rate he was going to require feeding soon and that wasn't something he planned to do recklessly. It was essential to resist his urges at the moment. It would not work the way he wanted if he failed to control his thirst. He had to be very careful, because Voldemort was certainly much more dangerous than before. In addition, there was practically no chance to get any cooperation from this wizard after what happened between them forty years ago.

The soft sounds were quickly approaching. He could already hear the wizard's ragged breath as he was coming closer and closer, heading towards their inevitable encounter.

The Leader firmly clenched his teeth and stifled desire for blood for another moment. After doing so he slowly came out of his hideout and stopped in the middle of the snow covered road meandering through the forest. Merely seconds kept them apart. If he had a heartbeat, he would surely feel it hammering in his chest.

He looked down and somewhat disapprovingly rubbed his inert thorax before his eyes reverted to the road before him.

And there he saw him standing in a shadow of an uprooted oak. It was the Dark Lord in person, his obsession and motivation over last thirty-eight years. Oh, Leontina definitely had a reason to seethe in jealousy. But it served her right for playing those dirty tricks to win his interest.

After few moments of idle gawping, he composed himself and strolled towards the motionless wizard. A one close look at the tall, emaciated figure from beneath his hood made his insides stir in craving.

The thirst plundered his throat.

"It's been some time, Voldemort. I ... missed you," he whispered softly as he unhurriedly circled the man who regarded him closely.

The blood-red eyes traced his every movement, pointedly aware of vampire's hungry stare.

"You look different."

Dragomir halted so he could hypnotize the Dark Lord from a distance of no more than five feet.

"You even smell a little different," he added and smirked. As he did, his perfect lips revealed a set of ultra white teeth.

Voldemort didn't move an inch.

"But still entirely appetizing, I must say," he grinned a little more and stretched his arm to touch the Dark Lord's skin. A rabid hiss stopped his movement. Leader's hand remained immobile for a few seconds before turning back into his cloak. For a split second the vampire's lips were pressed together before parting again.

"You haven't greeted me yet, Voldemort. I know we were a little bad-tempered when we broke up, yet such hostility toward a guest you invited from Romania is really unwelcome..."

The Dark Lord's face remained blank, though his eyes considerably darkened.

"You _bloodsucking freak_," he eventually spoke. "I might have been unable do that the last time, but I assure you that _I am_ going to destroy you even if it means to cut you into little pieces and burn them one by one." If Voldemort's pallid lips didn't tremble so much, his overly cold voice would have a proper impact.

There was a short silence before the vampire chuckled quietly. He wasn't a stupid human to be afraid of this dark wizard. On the contrary, he was amused.

"Oh, what can I say ... I guess I'm delighted that you still remember me and the promise you gave me as well. It's pleasant to know that I'm not the only one who couldn't forget. But let me remind you, you claimed to come for me within twenty years. You said that by that time you'll rule the world, become the most powerful wizard ever and then kill me. What happened, Voldemort? I've been waiting nearly twice as long, curious how good you've become and here I found you in this forest, wand less and severely wounded."

The Leader paused to look better at the mortal.

"Is it really just the boy's fault? He must be very special then. His name is Harry Potter, correct?"

Voldemort's facial muscles twitched as he fought to keep his face expressionless.

"Honestly, how do you want to beat me, when you can't kill _one stupid teenager_?" the vampire mocked cruelly.

The Dark Lord stayed put, though some of his rage leaked into his face, especially when the Leader stepped closer and bent his head to his ear.

"Tell me, is it true then? Are you really dying? There's nothing to keep you alive? Did Potter manage to destroy you so completely? Your aura is very, _very _weak..."

Not a single breath escaped Voldemort's lips. The vampire lowered his melodic voice to a mere whisper.

"This is bad. But I can help you, you know. All you have to do is ask."

"Never!" Voldemort hissed curtly, barely opening his mouth.

Dragomir could only admire how this man could hold his stance even in this fairly hopeless situation. He couldn't resist and pushed him a little.

"You don't have a choice. Admit that you have to accept me. Only I can make you live forever ... in a way. It'll be over fast enough. Within one minute, I promise."

"_I said no_. Don't make me repeat myself, lousy leech. I may not give you a time to regret it!"

The Leader wasn't bothered, he was fascinated. His enemies usually weren't able to threaten him while they barely kept themselves upright.

This wizard was truly unique.

"If it is your decision... Hmm, I see you're still the same prideful little Dark Lord. That's what I like about you. By the way - I know it's a bit out of topic but you wear a very interesting pullover. You distinctively changed your wardrobe. What does that big H means?"

Voldemort resolve to remain calm was quickly crumbling away and his body started to shake with barely suppressed rage.

The Leader's grin spread wider.

"Never mind. It's not important. But I like to know what you think. You're furious because you're afraid, right? You know very well that I can finish it right now with or without your consent."

Another devilish smirk.

"And I would surely do that if mere a thought of it weren't so dissatisfying. Your blood is so cold that it hardly moves. It wouldn't be worth my endeavor, especially after forty years of waiting."

His lips touched the equally freezing earlobe and his long pale forefinger jabbed into Voldemort's blood-stained clothes.

"I can't say that you don't tempt me, though. It's really thrilling to see that my magic still affects you. Nice, very nice indeed..."

His mouth moved to Voldemort's temple. "Your stamina is remarkable. I think that I should give you a second chance. Show me that you deserve it. It would be very unpleasant to realize that I waited so long in vain. So I suggest you to survive, kill Potter and duel me. If you can do that then I might even offer you something worth your interest."

The tip of his nose carefully traced the curve of the Dark Lord's jaw, smelling the salty sweetness.

"I let you go," he murmured, "but only this once. If we meet again I swear I won't be that nice."

"HEY!"

Dragomir looked up over Voldemort's shoulder and saw a young man staring at them agape from a short distance. The mess of black hair sticking out in every possible direction and a particular scar on his forehead said more than a verbal introduction.

He sent Harry one nasty smile, brought the bloodied finger to his mouth and slowly licked it clean like a gourmet tasting an archive wine. The next moment he disappeared in a swirl of thinning mist.

*****

"What the heck was that about?"

"Who was that guy?-!"

Harry couldn't get over his shock. It wasn't an everyday occurrence to see the Dark Lord in an embrace with some other guy.

Scratch that.

Youngster's cheeks turned slightly pink as he recalled what they shared not so long ago, even though it was purely for survival reasons.

Still, what Harry just witnessed was really strange. He wasn't completely sure if Voldemort and the other person held each other, but even his poor eyesight could tell that they were standing a way too close and that the hooded freak was doing something disgusting to Voldemort's face – or at least it looked that way. Harry dared to guess that the guy (he was overly tall to be a woman) wasn't an Auror (too scary thought), but who the hell was he?

A Death Eater?

And since when Voldemort has been so familiar with his minions?

Riddle didn't have any true friends so who the hell was that Mr. Strange?

More importantly, what was the reason of Voldemort's sudden fear and panic?

Harry wanted some answers, so he decided to ignore weakness in his knees and stumbled onward to halt beside the Dark Lord who still looked somehow petrified.

"What's going on here?" Harry asked again, his voice more timid this time.

Voldemort leisurely turned his head to look at the embodiment of his troubles. His crimson eyes seemed lifeless and empty.

"None of your business, Potter," he rasped and went back to staring blankly at some unspecified point in space.

"Was it a Death Eater? Do you plan to...?"

"Leave, before you accuse me of further nonsense," Voldemort spoke curtly, not looking at the young man.

Harry bit his lip and nodded firmly.

"Sounds like the right thing to do."

He wrapped his arms around his chest, which was also freezing at this point and forced his stiff legs move. It was foolish of him to expect some answers. Voldemort, the bastard, told him only the things he considered having no significance in the future. This basically meant he told him nothing. Harry was sure that Riddle knew what was going on, he was more than familiar with that stranger, apparently had cognizance of who imprisoned them in that cave (so far Harry already regretted his rash behavior a couple of minutes ago – it was obvious that he was wrong, Voldemort would hardly choose to suffer with him in a prison just to get his collaboration) and many other things which he refused to share.

Whatever.

Harry couldn't care anymore. He was going to find the fastest way to London and forget this whole surreal experience.

If only his body could cooperate with him instead of twitching in strong shivers.

Harry took in a painful breath and tried to gulp down the acid of his stomach. Hopefully, he finds some help before he dies of cold.

A soft lisp of silky robes and a damped thud which followed right away brought him to a sudden halt.

His face was a display of disbelief when he turned around and found out that Voldemort not only didn't move from his spot, but he was currently kneeling and ... oh, Merlin...

Bewildered, Harry watched the other man topple over and fall into snow like in a slow-motion movie.

"Voldemort?" he found himself whispering. It looked so dreadfully final that he ... that he...

That he didn't know what to do. His brain chose the worst moment to take a break. The only thing he could contemplate at the moment was whether or not he should be rejoicing, but strangely he couldn't think of anything he would want to do less.

Slower than he intended to, he turned away from the helpless wizard and resumed his walk.

"It's not my problem," he muttered.

"No matter what he told me, no matter how I feel, he's still a mass murderer. He killed my parents."

Once he spoke this aloud, he could swear he saw them in his peripheral vision. Quickly, he checked it up, but nothing; it was just a projection of his exhausted brain. It only fuelled his sudden sullenness.

"He killed many people I loved. Or they died because of him; it's not a big difference..."

"Ginny...," his throat narrowed and he could nearly feel her hand brush against his but once he looked aside, she disappeared.

"Fred, Tonks, Lupin, Dumbledore, Dobby ... Sirius..." As he was saying those names they started to appear before his eyes, looking at him sadly, yet with kind understanding.

"Stop! Stop this! I think I'm going crazy!" he shrieked and buried his face in his hands.

Harry's back shook as he tried to swallow sobs and a huge lump in his throat. He rubbed his burning eyes and dried the wetness. When he finally looked up, he froze.

All of a sudden he saw himself.

It had to be a hallucination, because even without his glasses he could see his own features very clearly. His other self was clean, shaved and dressed in his new Auror's training outfit. His brightly green eyes however weren't focused on real Harry; instead he was looking behind him.

"That's it." Harry mumbled. "Either I'm a narcissistic moron, or I'm raving at last."

He tried to go on, but the other Potter resolutely stood in his way.

"Get lost you figment of my imagination!"

He didn't expect a reply and didn't get one.

"At least stop looking at him! I'm not going for him. I'm not going to help him! I _can't_! In sake of all people he would kill in the future! No, no, and double NO!"

The other Harry just stared, making the true one clench his fists.

"Oh god, this must be my subconscious talking to me... What am I supposed to do?-! I mustn't help the bastard and yet I know that if I don't then I will never rest in piece. Even a hundred years later on my death bed I'd be thinking about how I owed Voldemort for saving my life and I just let him die... It would chase me forever ... I'd be like that crazy Moaning Myrtle..."

The projection of his overstrained mind disappeared and that heated Harry up. He marched back to the curled male form, knelt down and fisted his collar.

"Fine, bastard, listen. I'd rather die than to owe you a damn thing! So I will try to help you, but only to get rid of this obligation!"

He grasped his pale chin, but the wizard appeared to be unconscious. "Don't you dare to see anything personal behind this! I hate you. There's nothing nice about you except your pretty soft skin..."

....

"GAH! I didn't want to say this! I'm speaking nonsense again! You see, my brain cells already ceased to function!"

The Dark Lord didn't respond.

"Okay. Let's go, bastard. Silent Voldemort, good Voldemort."

Harry wheezed as he finally settled the wizard on his back and felt his knees wobble in a strong need to give way.

"I had no idea that a bunch of bones can be that heavy," he fumed, grasped the other man under his knees and began his seemingly endless journey through the once again silent forest.

*****

In the meantime, somewhere in the shadows navy eyes narrowed a little.

"Harry Potter... Hmm, this is interesting..."

*****

_A secret base of the Order of the Phoenix_

_Grimmauld Place 12, London_

_20__th__ December 2000, 9:10 A.M._

"George! Ron! Would. You. Finally. Stop. Doing. That!"

Molly Weasley's rounded face turned pink from her exertion to pull the boys apart. When it doesn't help, she started to hit them over their heads with the first thing she laid her hand on which turned to be a wooden saucer.

"Aren't you a bit old to tussle like small kids?"

"But ... mom...," Ron began to stutter only to shut up under Hermione's strict stare. He huffed some quiet complains and let go of George's head which he tried to scalp with bare hands.

George sniggered, but hushed up as he noticed that his mother eyed him expectantly and folded her arms over her breast in threatening manner.

"I'm glad to see that good humour hasn't left you yet."

Ron and Hermione froze for a second and then veered after the deep voice. They came face to face to a tall black wizard, who was leaning against a doorframe.

"KINGSLEY?-!" they gasped in union.

"Hello, kids," he smiled heartily and pulled them into a brief embrace. "How are you?"

Hermione was the first one of the two who managed to connect her brain with her mouth.

"How's that possible?-! How could you escape from Azkaban?-!"

The wizard in question shook his head and rubbed a crease between his eyebrows.

"It's complicated... I already began to explain it to the others, but since you are here I don't mind to repeat it. But let's take a seat first."

Ron was still a little bit dumbstruck and let Hermione drag him into a dining room, where some other members of the Order already waited for them.

The presence of Elphias Doge, Dedalus Diggle wasn't anything extraordinary, but the young couple stared in surprise at the crouched figure in the corner. It was the cowardly little thief, Mundungus Fletcher. He seemed to be frightened. There was a sick paleness in face and for the first time in his life he was completely silent.

Ron finally woke up from his amazement.

"What the bloody hell is he doing here?-!"

"Ah Ron, if you calm down and take a place, I will explain," Kingsley spoke in a soothing voice. Ron dragged his feet for a few moments as if he considered whether he should obey or not before following his girlfriend to the table.

He slumped down on a chair, looking gruff. Kingsley took it as a sign that he can begin.

"As I already told you, we have a severe problem."

"Aside the Umbitch being the Minister for Magic?" George chuckled deeply.

"George!" Mrs. Weasley called out at her son. Once her strong voice took the effect she looked back to Shacklebolt, who simply nodded.

"It's much worse than that. I'm under the impression that vampires took over the Ministry. If it weren't of Mundungus, I'd be dead for sure. He didn't exactly save me, but still – without him I wouldn't be here."

This information evoked a general commotion. Questions like 'What are you talking about?' 'What exactly happened?' 'When did it happen?' or 'Why Aurors aren't doing anything?' could be heard.

Kingsley sighed, slowly rubbed his temples and leaned over the table.

"I don't know. I can only tell you what I witnessed and what I think about it."

The tumult amplified and it wasn't before Arthur Weasley tapped his empty pot against the desk that Kingsley could speak again.

"During the time of my imprisonment in Azkaban I had some very strange things. Muggles, for example. I couldn't understand why anyone from the government would want to jail them in an overcrowded wizard prison. It was before I noticed that they were under control of those bloodsucking monsters dressed in Aurors' suits. Everything was clear to me once I saw what they did to them. They turned them into vampires and let those newborn thirsty freaks rampage through the prison. You can imagine that the renewed Azkaban's guards, Dementors, didn't mind very much. I guess that only the fact that I had a separate cell saved my live."

Kingsley paused to drink from his pot, silence meeting his ears. He could feel their eyes watching him in horror.

"Later, two Aurors came for me and I tried to warn them, but they forbid me to speak. They took me at the Ministry for further investigation. We were just about to enter the interrogation cell when it happened. Four vampires appeared at the corner, dragging Mundungus along."

"How could you tell they were vampires?" Elphias asked intrigued, and slightly nervous.

Kingsley cast a glance at him before unbuttoning first two studs of his coat. An awful scar defaced the base of his neck.

"I knew it. I could feel them, because I was bitten once."

The heavy silence spreading over the room was ultimately disrupted with his steady voice. "The vampires were after the Aurors, not me. They requested cooperation in a matter of some robbery. For some reason, the vampires intended to question them as suspects so I wasn't really surprised when they were met with a refusal. The fight started right after that and I and Mundungus were caught in the middle. The little thief somehow managed to grab one of the Auror's wands and tried to get the vampires out of his escape route, but by mistake he cursed a vampire who was about to bite off my head. We escaped only because I grabbed him and _apparated_ us out of there before they could tear us apart."

He drank from the pot again.

"So the important message I came to tell you is about a numbers of vampires roaming about the Ministry. Moreover, someone is building up their army and no one is doing anything about it."

"Could it be Voldemort?" Hermione asked firmly, disregarding flinches which the name always caused.

Kingsley, however, seemed to think about it rather than be irritated by that name.

"It would be very foolish of him to collaborate with vampires and if anything, he certainly isn't stupid," he spoke finally. "Vampires are the most dangerous and unpredictable monsters of all the dark creatures. They lack souls just like Dementors, they feed on humans like werewolves and they are dead, or let's say _undead_ like Inferi. There are wizards and witches who are naive enough to think they can understand them, but they are deeply mistaken. Their nastiness comes from the essence of their existence. They can hide it but they can never hide from it."

"How do they even exist if they lack a soul?" It was Percy who spoke this time. Everyone turned to look at him curiously.

"I think that Lupin would be the one to answer this question correctly, but..." Arthur sighed and moved on a bit. He couldn't say '_he isn't with us anymore_.' So he rather went on. "Vampires and werewolves don't particularly like each other. This mutual dislike could be another reason for You-Know-Who to stay away from them. But we also know that You-Know-Who is capable of almost everything. But to answer your question, the secret of vampire's existence is hidden in the process of their 'birth'. What you must know is that they are very different from us. They can't breed like living forms, because their dead bodies are unable to reproduce. The only way they can do it is by killing humans. When this happens, the soul of the victim is lost forever, replaced by a copy, which - I think - works quite alike, allowing the newborn vampire experience some feelings and ensures the monster of its own existence. However, it's always mere a substitute. The feelings aren't real. They can never feel true compassion, love or anything. It's logical, because otherwise they would cease to exist if they couldn't feed from those who are alive."

"That sounds really nasty," Ron gulped loudly. His father looked at him and nodded. He wanted to say something, but Hermione was faster.

"What exactly happen to the soul of the victim?"

Dedalus Diggle, who as the only one seemed to be a bit tired of the conversation, didn't even bother to open his eyes when he replied.

"No one really knows, but it's generally accepted that the soul is destroyed once the vampire took away its vital force. Actually, vampire's attack is considered to be the second worst thing which can happen to you aside receiving a Dementor's Kiss. Even the literature says that it leaves permanent damage, mental and physical."

"Which I can only confirm," Kingsley said in a gravel voice.

"H... how exactly do you become a vampire?" Ron asked again, growing more and more nervous by every minute.

Hermione sighed and eyed him exasperatedly.

"Ron, you should know this! And you would if you paid a proper attention back in the school."

"I paid attention! But in Hogwarts we were only told about how to recognize a vampire and how to kill it, not how to become one of them!" He retorted monumentally offended.

George rolled his eyes as it seemed that another lover's quarrel is on the way. But Hermione surprised him when she evenly replied.

"It's very simple. You can read it in any textbook concerning dark creatures. You would become a vampire if one of them sucked off all of your blood. Or enough to make your heart stop."

Her boyfriend subconsciously squeezed his throat.

"But ... it must take quite a long time, right?"

Kingsley tried not to laugh hollowly at the desperate, almost childish question.

"No, not at all," he said. "Vampires are exceptionally lethal creatures. Usually, it doesn't take much longer than a minute. It always depends on how practiced the vampire is and how 'big' or 'old' the victim is. Once bitten, the victim is usually completely numbed within several seconds, so the vampire can feed without any obstacles. If the vampire decides to kill, there aren't many chances to survive it. The only cases I've heard of were when the vampire was interrupted during the feeding. As far as I know these monsters tends to be cautious when they feed, because their attention is diverted and their main weapon is engaged. It leaves them quite vulnerable. That's also why they are so fast."

Ron tightened the protective grip of his neck.

"So nearly every attack leads to a new vampire?"

"Nope, I'm still alive as you can see."

The previous Minister stood up and came over to the young man.

"Quite a number of vampires never drink enough to kill the victim, so usually there is a good chance of recovery. They hold back, because they realize consequences of their actions. I mean they don't mind to kill someone. But slaughter of muggles and magicians would eventually lead to an open war which could be fatal for vampires as species. They are very selfish creatures obsessed with their self-preservation and definitely do not want to be eradicated. That's why those 'civilized ones' are often safe to meet and Aurors usually leave them alone. But there are many groups of vampires and some of them prefer to kill every time they attack. Only thereafter they decide whether a new vampire will be born or not by killing - usually breaking the spine of the victim before the rebirth process is finished."

It was a moment when Mrs. Weasley leaped out of her chair and crossed her arms again.

"With all the respect, Kingsley, stop talking about it already. You're scaring my children!"

"I'm not a scared in the slightest!" Ron opposed as everyone looked at him.

"Of course not, scaredy-cat! Ssssssss. Is it a snake under the table?"

Ron was about to hit his older brother again, but Hermione stopped him and turned towards Shacklebolt.

"The vampires you saw at the Ministry, they weren't the 'civilized ones', were they?" There was a silent urgency in her voice.

Kingsley hesitated with the answer.

"Honestly, Hermione, I don't know. But we have to deal with them. The danger they represent for our whole society is huge."

They nodded one by one, deep in thought.

"And what about Harry? Haven's you heard of him when you were in Azkaban? Not even a rumor?" she asked, clearly desperate now.

Kingsley's shoulders visibly slumped down as he replied.

"I'm sorry, but no. Most of the time I was alone. I'm afraid I can't help you with this."

Their mood sank to a freezing point after hearing that. In that moment they all shared the same thought.

_Harry, where are you..._

_**R & R**_


	21. Peculiar patients

**Peculiar patients**

_21__th__ December 2000, sometime during the afternoon _

Beep... Beep... Beep... Beep...

The raven haired youngster scrunched his eyebrows and scratched his cheek. What an annoying sound, he thought absently. If he weren't so drowsy, he would even bother to look at the thing disturbing his pleasant slumber. Instead, he rather snuggled against the soft pillow, hoping to fall back asleep quickly. He had almost forgotten it how it felt like to take a nap in dry and warm clothes.

But something was also very odd about this and tired or not, Harry started to ponder it over. With his eyelids still locked together he moved his hand from the cushion to the not very comfortable mattress underneath. He didn't remember getting into this bed – or getting into any bed in the first place. As a matter of fact, what was the last thing he could recall? Everything seemed to be so clouded...

Steps...

They were getting nearer...

Suddenly he heard a quiet click of a doorknob and low voices. He couldn't recognize them, nor understand the topic of discussion, which naturally awoke his curiosity. Maybe he should take a glance. He needed to know where he was and who those people were.

The strangers approached his bed and he instinctively curled his arms over his chest in a protective gesture. He tried to have a look at them, but his sleepy eyes refused to open. His mind was still somehow dangling above the abyss of oblivion.

"He seems to be waking up," said a soft woman's voice and then he felt a warm hand on his cheek. A quiet laughter followed. "What a handsome young man he is, once he's washed and shaved."

"Miss Ross," spoke a deeper voice from the other side of Harry's bed. "How many times shall I tell you that touching your patients so familiarly is unprofessional and uncalled-for? Especially when the said person is unconscious."

The woman sighed and Harry felt her fingers leave his chin.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Cooper, I won't do that again," she whispered apologetically.

Then her warm hand moved to Harry's shoulder and shook him slightly. The young wizard felt her soft breath on his cheek as she leaned closer.

"Mister ... Mister! Can you hear me?"

Harry wanted to reply, but his tongue seemed to be as unresponsive as his eyelids. It was extremely aggravating. He growled back in his throat and forced himself to look through a tiny slit between his overly heavy eyelids.

Fuzzy colors slowly sharpened into a vague form of a smiling young woman's face leaning over him. She had a long peroxide blond hair neatly stapled into the tail and bright hazelnut eyes. Confused, he looked up at the man on the other side, who was wearing a long white coat. Harry couldn't see his face against the sharp daylight coming through a large window.

'Who are you? Where am I?' he tried to ask, but the only sound he produced was an inarticulate rattle.

"Don't try to speak so hard, sir," the man in the white coat spoke and stepped closer. "Sorry for your dry throat, it's a result of your treatment. We made you breathe warm air to quicken rewarming of your body." He paused for a brief moment. "I believe I haven't introduced myself yet. I'm doctor Cooper and this is nurse Ross," he pointed at the blond woman sitting at the edge of his bed. "You are in Crawley Hospital. May I ask you what your name is?" he said while watching Harry with mild interest.

Harry knew he should be surprised. He knew he should be asking about how did he get here and what happened to him, but he couldn't. It would require too much of energy which he didn't have. All he wanted at the moment was to doze off.

But the doctor was still waiting for his reply. Damn it.

"H ... Har ... Harry ... Potter," he finally rasped and coughed to clear his throat. It didn't help; his tongue was still dry and harsh like an old slip sole. Moreover, his eyes seemed to have an independent life, because they decided to close completely against his will.

In reality, there was only one thing he was truly concerned about. He needed to know where his archenemy was. He may not remember how long or how far he carried the unconscious man, but the experience itself was something he could not easily forget. He forced himself to open his eyes again and look around the ward, along the white walls and hospital facilities. He even identified the beeping machine next to him, recording his slow, regular heart beat. But Voldemort was nowhere in sight. Did he already escape and planned his demise again or was he gone for good? He had to know the answer before the blissful oblivion cleared his head over again.

"Wh ... wher's ... Volde ... Mor...?" he tried to ask.

After a short moment of silence the nurse spoke.

"I think he's asking after his ... eh ..._ strange _companion," she said and looked at the doctor.

The man nodded and glanced back at the youngster. "He's still at ICU*," he said simply. "Doctor Rodgers and the rest of his team are doing their best to keep him alive. I believe that he will come here when he's off duty to personally apologize for that unfortunate accident which put you into this predicament. Until then you shall take some rest."

Harry already stopped listening. Partly because he couldn't stay awake for any longer and partly because what the man said didn't make much sense. He was floating back into the realm of dreams and their voices slowly disappeared in a thickening mist.

"So his name is Harry Potter. Write it down to the report. And ... what did he say the name of his companion was?"

After a short hesitation the nurse replied.

"Err ... I think he said Walter, doctor. Walter Moore..."

*****

_Azkaban_

_21__th__ December 2000, late evening _

_So this is how __the true hell looks like_, Draco thought as he looked down from a rooftop at the slaughter which took place behind the Gates of Azkaban. He's been a Death Eater for almost five years and yet he's never learned how to watch such a massacre with a blank expression. He wasn't like his father who could stand it without a blink of an eye which only reflected decades in Voldemort's service. Though, Malfoy senior never participated in the killing. His father... He could already fall a victim to one of those bloodthirsty monsters while his son was sitting here and pondering about it. Draco was mad at himself that he couldn't bring himself to make another move. He already stepped over all boundaries he was forbidden to cross, so there was no turning back, but going any further could easily mean his painful end.

But his parents underwent this because of him. His father abandoned the Dark Lord during the battle of Hogwarts only to find him and ensure his safety. This is how the Malfoys were, the family meant everything for them and he won't break that tradition now. That is why he, Draco Malfoy, a young wizard with minimal skills and battle experiences followed their example and turned his back on his Master as well, abandoning the mission in order to save his dad. Something he thought he would never be able to do, no matter how preposterous he found the mission itself. He could finally see the level of the Dark Lord's desperation when he entrusted him with that impossible task. How could he ever convince vampires of benefits of alliance with the Dark Lord when all the monsters cared about was a taste of blood? And now that he knew that the Vampire's King, whom he was supposed to meet in Romania, was slaughtered and replaced by Voldemort's prominent enemy, some freak calling himself the Leader, he felt no desire to stand before his Master and explain him why he failed so terribly in his task. Instead of ensuring the Dark Lord's walkover he brought the whole British wizarding population to extinction. According to what he just witnessed, it was only a matter of short time.

Vampires do not make contracts with humans, they eat them. If he managed to learn something during his mission then it was this. The Dark Lord wouldn't be pleased.

And this even wasn't his biggest problem. He had no idea why the Leader, a bloodthirsty leech who seemed to be unhappy if didn't kill a poor wretch a day, kept him alive and relatively 'pampered'. Several times he made absolutely clear that the considered the Dark Lord nothing more but one of his future dinners and possible enforcement of his army. Still he didn't dare to harm his mere follower. Or was he mistaken? After all he's been the only Death Eater returning alive from Romania. Why he wasn't killed, he had no idea. The worst thing about his continuing existence was being watched all the time. Leontina, another nosferatu, usually didn't take his eyes off him. She had to act on the Leader's command; she surely didn't do this because of a deep mutual affection.

He forced himself to tolerate her as she followed him like a harmless shadow. It was absurd that in the end it was her who told him with a calm face that Azkaban was being changed into vampire's nursery. From that moment on he knew he has to run off. And now, after many hours of vain attempts, he finally escaped from her grasp. Honestly, he would prefer never to learn about the consequences.

A loud scream tore him out of his muse. There was no point in further hesitation. If he went this far, he couldn't possibly go back. With a final sigh he pulled out his wand and jumped down from the roof to join the infernal spectacle.

_Blood. Blood. Blood._ It was everywhere. What a gross, he couldn't stand it. The intense smell made him taste his last meal against his palate. He gulped idly and decided to move quickly around. After all he was trained to be a spy; fast, effective and invisible. He should be able to ignore distractions, but there were some things he couldn't overhear, such as high-pitched cries for mercy which gradually fade out only to be replaced by new ones. He had to remain focused on his mission. For the first time he acted upon his own resolution and though he knew he was already doomed, he wanted to get his father out and be somewhat prideful in his death. It sounded bravely in his head, but in reality he was terrified.

_Where exactly his father could be imprisoned?_ He wondered briefly. His mother told him that when she visited him once (they didn't allow her to see him more) they met in some special room at the third floor. However according to the information he had from the rest of the Dark Lord's inner circle, the most of Death Eaters were locked up at the sixth floor.

"_Reducto!"_ he screamed at two newborn vampires who decided that he would make a tasty snack.

Satisfied, he watched as the curse threw them against the wall.

Who would have thought that he alone would go on a rescue mission into this dreadful jail? Everyone has always underestimated him.

Suddenly the temperature began to drop steeply._ Damn it, Dementors_, he thought when he registered three floating figures at the other end of a narrow corridor. He had to avoid them. His Patronus Charm never worked effectively enough to deal with them and this time there was no Dark Lord to command and control them. The only solution was to hastily climb upstairs and as he did he blasted another vampire out of his way.

Once there, he met the same narrow corridors, the same empty cells and the same blood on the walls. Fear which until this moment dwelled deep inside him, hidden beneath his noble reasoning, started to leak at the surface. It would be very stupid of him if he went astray in this diabolic maze.

_Snap. _

The sound of strong chops clasping together an inch from his neck startled him to an extreme. So much that he made a fatal error. His wand fell out of his fingers and he lost a balance and slumped forward. For the first time since he entered Azkaban he screamed in terror. Instinctively he tried to reach for his wand but the vampire was already advancing on him, blocking the path to his weapon. Draco backed away as quickly as he could, amusing the beast greatly. It was a woman and she surely used to be beautiful, but now her face was crooked in a maddening bloodlust and her long maroon hair was glued-up in the sanguine liquid, which was dripping from several strands.

"Lovely," she whispered and licked her lips lasciviously, making her soon-to-be victim numbly wonder whether he should start to see his life running before his eyes now.

But then the woman suddenly stopped her advance, snarled quietly at some shadow and disappeared.

Draco didn't even have a chance to take a deep breath when another sweet woman's voice spoke. He didn't thought it would be possible for his fright to multiply ten times within one second.

_Leontina._

"Pity, your game's over. Though you're fairly good at playing hide-and-seek, Draco. I had been having fun," she chuckled softly and then stepped out from behind the corner to stop in front of him, raising her finger as if she wanted to reprimand him like an insolent child.

"You were told to stay at Ministry, dear boy. You were also told not to leave your room. I warned you that something unpleasant would happen to you if you dared to disobey me," she said in a false sad tone. "You see, now I have to kill you. It's a shame, isn't it?"

"Listen," he began, but within a heartbeat she bent to him, pressing her forefinger against his lips. "Too late, Draco. I don't give second chances. Vampires usually do not have patience with pathetic humans. You may not understand it now, but I'll make you see my point of view." She smiled horribly, barring her teeth. "Very soon," she breathed out.

"Enough!"

Draco just shut his eyes tightly when a harsh man's voice cried that single word. Leontina laughed sweetly again.

"I won't let you hurt him!" the man snarled and Draco turned his head to see the other person hiding in a shadow, holding out his wand, pointing it at the vampire.

"Who are you?" the young Death Eater whispered, trying to read out somewhat familiar outlines.

"Heh ... a mortal. Do you have a last wish, fool?" Leontina sang, straightening her small, slender figure.

"Go on, kill us both, but you will have to explain this to your beloved Leader in person. And I'm sure that you won't make Negura happy," the raspy voice spoke from the dark.

For the first time the black haired woman ceased to smile. Astounded silence spread around, emphasizing her surprise.

"H-how come you know _his_ name?-!" she stuttered a little. It had to take her a lot of effort to keep her voice relatively calm.

"How could I forget his name, Leontina?" the stranger whispered. "But sadly, you no longer seem to remember me."

"Tche," she smirked. "As if I shall keep in mind every pitiful human who ever crossed my path."

As a response to that the man stepped out of the shadow, his right hand holding on his bleeding throat while the left one remained clenched around the wand. His hair was so dirty that no one could possibly recognize their true color, but his grey eyes remained the same, just as his aristocratic facial features.

"F ... father?" Draco muttered breathlessly.

*****

_Crawley Hospital, Crawley, Southern England_

_22__th__ December 2000, early morning_

"Mr. Potter? Mr. Potter, wake up, please."

Harry let out a soft groan and turned away from another violator of his contented rest.

"Mr. Potter!"

The voice was deep, rich and pleasant but the tone carried a hint of stress and urgency. Once again Harry found it completely unfamiliar.

"Breakfast is ready for you; you wouldn't want to eat it when it's cold. Then ... we can talk."

_Breakfast?_ This magical word aroused** Harry within several seconds. He turned around and stared wide-eyed at a man in a white working suit, sitting beside him. The man's umber hair fell over his high forehead into his kind chocolate eyes, which regarded him closely.

"You slept quite a long time, Mr. Potter. I wanted to talk to you yesterday evening, but in the end I decided it was unnecessary to wake you up. You needed to rest more."

Harry's eyes switched from the man to the plate with an appetizing food in his lap and back.

"Who are you?" he asked warily. Luckily enough his voice was much better than the last time he tried to speak.

A momentary surprise in the man's face was quickly replaced by abashment. "Oh, how rude of me. I'm sorry. I'm doctor Daniel Rodgers. I was under the impression that Dr. Cooper mentioned my name when he talked to you yesterday. He was supposed to tell you that I will come for an evening visit."

"Huh," Harry breathed out and distractedly rubbed his temple. "I guess he said something like that," he muttered then and reached for a teacup and cheese bread on the plate.

Dr. Rodgers nodded and moved closer. "Well ... now, how do you feel?"

"Better," Harry mumbled again and flinched slightly as the man laid his palm on his forehead and pulled out stethoscope. It was then when Harry realized that the beeping machine was finally switched off.

"That's always good to hear," the doctor spoke. "I hope you won't mind if I make a quick check-up before you start to eat?"

"Um, sure," the raven said and watched the doctor place the stethoscope under his half-unbuttoned hospital shirt. He hissed quietly when the cold metal touched his chest. While the other man listened to his heart beat and breath, Harry's brain finally started to work at maximum speed. He was curious about everything. How did he get into this hospital, where was his archenemy at the moment, why did his right leg hurt so much, why wasn't he dreadfully hungry, what was in that infusion tube which was sticking out of his forearm and many other things he couldn't quite process yet. The question was what should he ask first? Before he could finish his contemplation the physician straightened his back and smiled contently.

"It looks really good. You are a fast healer, just like your friend. Now let's take a look at your leg and..."

"My friend?" Harry butted in, shocked.

"Yeah. I'm sure you'll gladly hear that Mr. Moore's health state improved significantly. It looked pretty hopeless for him yesterday, but..."

"Mr. Moore?-!" Harry choked on his saliva.

The doctor looked confused.

"Yes, Mr. Walter Moore. Is something wrong? Maybe nurse Ross didn't hear you correctly, when you said his name..."

"No, no, no," Harry muttered quickly and bit into bread to mask his sudden perplexity. "It's correct," he said finally.

But deep inside he was trying to find the fastest way out of this mess. So Voldemort was here and he was alive. What should he do? This doctor was clearly a muggle to the core when he didn't recognize the Dark Lord's face, nor found it suspicious. So for the time being it was good for them all that they didn't know Voldemort's true identity. It would only cause unnecessary panic, unless... Unless...

"Is he awake?" he asked nervously and took another bite of a delicious meal.

"No, Mr. Potter." The cheerful expression slowly faded on the man's face. "I'm sorry, but he hasn't awoken yet."

"Good," Harry sighed in relief which earned a look of utter disbelief from the physician.

"I mean it's good that he's still asleep," Harry spoke quickly, covering his slight blush behind the teacup. "He hates ... he's really afraid of doctors. He could do something ... _improper_."

"Oh, I see," Daniel said kindly and nodded. "I can understand that. Some doctors may be overly fascinated by his err ... unique ... physiology. However, no need to worry; we are keeping him sedated at the moment."

Okay, maybe the doctor found him to be quite _unusual._ Another reason for Harry to quickly finish his tea and meal as well.

"I'd like to see him, if I can," he said once he ate the last morsel and readied himself to get up from the bed. But the firm hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"I'm sorry Mr. Potter, but you can't get up now. Your plaster isn't completely dry yet."

"My plaster?"

It was Harry's turn to look confused.

Mr. Rodgers sighed quietly and his shoulders slumped. "Don't you remember?" he whispered and took away the warm blanket covering the youngster's body.

"M...my leg," Harry stuttered and stared at the white container enveloping his limb, reaching up his mid-thigh.

"What happened to me?-!" he gasped and glanced at the doctor who covered him up again and now was staring out of the window. His face was a display of tension.

"I ... I'm really, really sorry Mr. Potter. This...," he sighed again and looked Harry in the eye. "This is entirely my fault. If you allow me, I'll explain."

All Harry could do at the moment was to nod absently.

"It happened yesterday morning. I overslept and I knew I will be late to work. I must confess that I was in rush, driving my car rather carelessly. I didn't pay much attention to the traffic because in my mind I was already here in the hospital. And then you suddenly appeared in the middle of the road. I tried my best to stop the car, but it went skidding on the fresh snow..."

Harry's mind went blank as he suddenly started to remember... _Voldemort's heavy body made him stagger in deep snow. He wanted so badly to shake off that redundant burden and breathe freely once again. But he couldn't as long as he had that awful life debt. So he kept on walking until the narrow pathway along the riverside finally ended behind leafless bushes. He felt a new wave of hope engulfing him once he realized that he stood on a narrow drive-way. Sooner or later someone had to go by, someone had to save him. But no one was coming ... no one. He draggled his feet, slowly giving up to his exhaustion. Just few more steps and he won't be able to stand anymore..._

_And then he heard it ... a rumble of an engine from behind him. He wasn't fast enough, so he turned only a halfway to see a white car dashing towards him. The lights blinded his eyes and the horn deafened his ears, but he couldn't move out of the way. Then the car started to rotate, the driver obviously lost control over it. Harry wanted to fling himself sideways to the ground and he would surely do that if his stiff legs obeyed him. Instead, he just stared at that plebeian vehicle coming to crush him to pieces. This should be his end? What a dreadful anticlimax. Ludicrous, really... _

"...and you were hit by the fender. This is the result ... it's a triple fracture of your shank and splint-bone. Please trust me when I say that I was trying to do everything I could to avoid the clash. But I couldn't..."

There was a short, unpleasant silence before Mr. Rodgers spoke again. "I was in a deep shock when I got out of the car to check you and your friend ... and I came to know that he wasn't breathing. I was convinced that it was my fault, so I panicked. This shouldn't happen to a doctor."

Harry shook his head to push back the bad memories and looked at the remorseful physician who was hiding his face behind his palms. Suddenly, he felt very sorry and sympathetic for this man.

"_He _is not my friend, doctor," he said quietly. "And just for your information, his condition wasn't your fault," he clarified.

The man hesitantly looked at him and imperceptibly nodded.

"Yeah, fortunately I found it out soon enough. He was cold as if he was dead some time already, but with some effort I managed to detect a heartbeat."

"Really? So he has a heart after all."

Harry looked genuinely surprised.

"And so were you," Rodgers went on, overhearing what the younger man quietly said. "Unlike him you weren't exactly in a life threatening health condition, although if I consider the fracture, trauma, hypothermia and starvation, you could have died of a shock," he said and looked at him pensively.

"Which means that you saved me, thank you," the young wizard whispered.

"That's not why I said it, Harry ... eh sorry, Mr. Potter."

The youngster chuckled. "Harry's okay."

"No, Mr. Potter. It's improper. After all, you have to testify against me. Two policemen are waiting outside this room to hear your witness. According to my opinion, they are convinced that I'm currently trying to bribe you not to make a charge against me. But this is not my intention, I know I'm guilty. So please, don't thank me for what I've done."

Harry gazed at the man, feeling a little bit overloaded by information. Police is here? What is he supposed to do now? He knew very well that Aurors closely monitored what was going on in a muggle word by means of police records. But what if Voldemort was right and some of his 'colleagues' were set to kill him? If he told him the truth, they would come for him and the Dark Lord within few minutes. There's no other way around this, he must lie no matter what. Also, he has to contact his friends from the Order to get some reliable information. It shouldn't be overly difficult; he should be able to find someone here to take him to London. However, there was a little snag in his plan. He couldn't possibly leave this place and let those goodhearted people became Voldemort's next victims. No, he won't let that happen. He decided to save the Dark Lord for the sake of his conscience, so he must make sure that Voldemort won't kill anyone as long as he can prevent it. Quite a heroic task, indeed.

A severe headache began to build up in Harry's scull.

He looked once again at the doctor, who seemed to be completely devastated by the lack of his response.

"Don't speak rubbish, sir," he said softly to him, trying to divert his black thoughts. "You could always drive away from the venue, but you decided to take care of us instead. You're a decent person worth admiration." _Nevertheless, who would admire you for saving Voldemort's life? It makes you the same outlaw as me_, he thought darkly. Daniel, however, was obviously cheered up by Harry's words.

"Mr. Potter, thank you for this, but all I've done was a civil duty. I'm not a criminal." Harry cringed. "I would never drive away and let you die."

The young man offered him a false, polite smile.

"I believe you. Now please, if you can call the police officers, I have something to tell them."

*****

When the door opened Harry tried to sit up and have a better look at the two men in uniform. Daniel quickly came over him to help him, which the young man accepted with gratitude.

"Doctor Rodgers, we would appreciate if you left us alone," said the smaller, full-bodied man and pushed his hat from his forehead to measure Harry with calculating eyes. The doctor nodded, took away the plate from Harry's lap and headed towards the door. The young wizard watched him leave and when the door finally closed he folded his arms over his chest.

The taller policeman strode over the room and sat in a chair, which Daniel left a minute ago. He pulled out a small notebook and adjusted his glasses.

"Good morning Mr. Potter. I'm sure Mr. Rodgers informed you why we are here. It's outrageous that he has to be your attending physician, but as we were informed it's unnecessary as the most of the hospital stuff already left for holidays. So, I suggest you not to take account of anything he told you. We are here to write down you full allegation which will be a groundwork for a future lawsuit."

Harry glared. _What the hell was with these people today? What happened with good English manners?_

"Your name, sir? And may I see your shield?"

The officer, if possible, looked offended. "Samuel Atkinson," he bristled and showed his badge.

Harry scowled; his emerald eyes narrowed in irritation.

"You should not bother to come here, _sir_. It is not my intention to bring a suit against Mr. Rodgers in slightest."

The man smirked and showed his crooked teeth. "I should have thought so. He bought you quite easily. What's your prize Mr. Potter, if I can ask?"

The young wizard gasped due to offence and fought down the urge to hit the man's face. It wouldn't do any good for him to be arrested for an assault of an officer. Slowly he unclenched his fingers and spoke in gravel tone.

"Mr. Rodgers saved my life, _sir_. If the prize was a fracture of my leg, then I was willing to pay it without a second thought. Any other questions?"

Atkinson's smirk finally fell from his face. He glanced back at his stubby colleague who didn't find necessary to introduce himself and shrugged his shoulders. Then he readjusted his glasses and pulled out a pen.

"I need to know your full name, residence, age and employment. We didn't find any of your documents in your clothes," he said simply.

Harry folded his arms over his chest again, biting his lip to keep down his temper.

"I don't have any documents, because they are at the bottom of the river. I had to jump there after my _friend_, who fell there by an accident. He nearly drowned. That's why was I and Volde ... I mean Mr. Moore soaking wet and completely chilled in the time of the car accident. And concerning that unfortunate even, none of it was Mr. Rodgers fault. It was me who caused it by staggering in the middle of the road. That's all I'm going to tell you and I don't care if you think it's not enough."

If Atkinson was upset about Harry's answer, he didn't show it. He simply put the notebook back in his pocket and got up and walked towards the door. He stopped there and turned back to look at the youngster.

"Do as you wish Mr. Potter. It is not in my authority to force you to request a rightful compensation. Although, I'm convinced that Mr. Moore won't waste this chance once he regains consciousness. My colleague will come tomorrow and I'm sure he won't leave this case open. Have a good day."

_You wouldn't want to see the sort of compensation Voldemort __would require,_ Harry thought bitterly, scowling after the men. Tired, he sank back in the cushions, closing his eyes. _Oh, Merlin, I was forced to call Voldemort my friend. Mother, father, Dumbledore, you should see me now, humiliated to the core. What worse can happen to me?_

This must stop. He must get the Dark Lord out of this hospital before it will be too late. And the doctor Rodgers might be of use to achieve this.

_**R & R**_

* ICU = Intensive Care Unit – I hope it's the proper term for a department of critical care medicine

** Not in _**that**_ way! :-P

**Author's note**: I'm back and I'd like to thank to my precious reviewers who support me and make me continue in this story. Your opinion is important for me, so please don't hesitate and leave a review! Thanks! ;-)


	22. Vampire's godson

**Vampire's godson**

_Azkaban_

_21__st__ December 2000, late evening _

"F ... father..."

For one very short moment Draco felt incredibly relieved. None of those horrendous images which tormented him in secret turned out to be truth. His father was alive. He didn't find his lifeless corpse in a pool of blood, nor was his parent turned into a monster lusting to dine him. The easement was, however, short and transient. As soon as the young man was offered a horrible sight of his father's injured throat, his terror returned with a full force.

"Get up Draco ... come quickly, hide behind me," Lucius rasped out with face contorted in pain, but his steel-grey eyes never left the vampire.

Draco didn't have to think twice about it and did as he was told. It surprised him that Leontina let him go without any protest. She merely watched them with an amused expression.

"Malfoy senior," she finally twittered. "What a great surprise to see Voldemort's servile bootlicker behind bars. What have you done to displease your master so much?" Her lips curved into a wry smirk and her merciless coal-black eyes turned upon his son. "I suppose this is also the reason for your disobedience, little one. You were in hurry to come here and save your daddy. It's funny to watch you humans struggle to protect your pathetic lives. Even funnier to see you fight for those who you care for. If I were one of you pitiful humans I guess I'd be impressed. That's why it's truly unfortunate that I don't care a bit about any of your high-minded intentions. Play a hero if you like, but you must learn to pay a prize. You must learn that heroes die young, boy."

She stepped a little closer, making both men back reluctantly. Draco gulped idly as her cold glare intensified.

"I shall inform you that the Leader ordered me to keep an eye on you and stop you if you tried to flee or contact another Death Eater. You did both. A foolish little kid like you must be punished for such misdeed." She licked her lips slowly, almost provocatively and sniffed the air like a wolf smelling the prey. "Sometimes I have to disagree with the Eminence, but I must admit that he is absolutely right about this. Wizards really do smell much better than muggles."

Lucius clutched the wand tighter as she approached. He didn't allow the slightest hint of fear appear on his face. He knew very well that scared expression of the victim turns the vampire wild.

"You won't do this, Leontina," he said calmly, while slowly retreating. Draco's fast irregular breath warmed the skin behind his ear. They both took another step backwards.

"Oh, that means you'll try to stop me, fool. I can't wait to see it!"

She crouched down a little as she spoke – a clear sign of forthcoming attack. Lucius couldn't hesitate any longer. Draco's wand flashed through the air but the words never left his mouth as his sore throat was clutched by another, much colder hand.

"Father!" Draco screamed and aimed to fist her face which suddenly appeared before him. He registered her brief glance and that was all, because following events happened faster than his brain could process. Within an eye wink his back were pressed against the wet dirty wall and her icy lips were attached to the base of his neck.

"Too slow," she chuckled against his skin, her wet tongue pushing against his artery and her opening mouth wide to bite and devour his valuable pure-blood.

"You mustn't do this!" Lucius cried out through his constricted throat, giving up everything for this one last chance, "Because Negura would never forgive you if you killed ... if you killed his godson!"

This exclamation cut through Draco's fright, even through Leontina's attack, leaving her teeth softly grazing against the young man's skin. Then the icy touch disappeared and Draco took a deep stuttering breath before opening his eyes again. He was too shocked to think clearly. He didn't want to consider what almost happened nor what exactly his father just said.

"What?" Leontina hissed. "Is this some low trick of yours, Malfoy? If it is, I assure you that you'll face the true wrath I'm capable of." The vampire's voice was no longer soft and smooth. It held the most appalling undertone possible, making the man shiver involuntarily.

In spite of being shaken to the core, Draco tried overcome his paralysis and pull himself together. He didn't know whether it was scarier to listen to this beast or think of his father's words. He was terrified to ask the next question.

"G-godson?-! Father, what ... what does it mean?"

He felt rather than saw the vampire step aside, allowing the older man to turn around and face his son.

The sight itself was alarming. Lucius looked guiltier than he had ever seen him before. Inwardly he didn't want to know the answer anymore, but it was too late, his father already spoke.

"I'm sorry my son for keeping this away from you. It is the truth, though. You're a godson of Dragomir Lucian Negura, who is nowadays commonly known as the Leader. It's a long story and I don't think that this _lady_," he cast a quick glance towards the bemused vampire, "is patient enough to let me explain."

The young man felt as if the air turned acid and he would suffocate if he took another breath. His knees suddenly couldn't sustain his weight anymore and he sank to the ground.

"This can't be ... this can't be real. No, no ... I don't believe it ... how could you...? He's a vampire, father! Vampire and the enemy of the Dark Lord! He almost killed me! He PLANS to kill me!"

"You're still alive, Draco. He decided to spare you once he heard your name, right my son?" the older man whispered apologetically.

"What does it matter, father! This is ... it's ... it's OUTRAGEOUS! How could you do this to _me_?-!" Draco cried and palmed his face to hide tears which burned in his eyes.

"Draco," Lucius whispered and squeezed the youngster's shoulder only to be pushed away as his son turned from him.

"Draco, it happened so long ago. I had no idea that he was a vampire back then and I wasn't the only one. Not even the Dark Lord was suspicious! I admit I made a huge mistake at that time, but I can't change the past no matter how much I would like to."

His son remained quiet, hiding his face behind his palms.

"Forgive me, Draco," he pleaded.

The lad stood quiet for a while, blankly staring at the ground through his fingers before he shook his head and looked up calmly, once again pretending to be in control of his emotions.

"So I have a godfather. Dragomir Lucian Negura, you say?" he spoke indifferently. "That's the Leader's name? Why does it sound so familiar?" No matter how hard he tried he couldn't avoid saying it without contempt.

"Draco...," his father whispered and tried to think of anything what would make his son feel better, but failed completely. In following silence nothing could be heard besides their breaths and desperate cries of injured prisoners. Lucius noticed that Draco's shoulders started to shake harder. He couldn't say whether it was because Draco cried or laughed bitterly. He carefully cupped his son's face, wiping his wet cheeks. He opened his mouth to speak, but Leontina interrupted him as she graciously stepped closer with a trademark smirk back on her face. She seemed to learn what she needed to know.

"Are you by any chance the little Lucius?" she asked curiously, even though she already knew the answer. Recognition was apparent in her voice, which immediately turned to be sweet as honey. "Of course you are - I remember you now. Interesting, it would never occur to me that the venal and cunning Malfoy and that prideful, courageous little boy named Lucius can be the same person. I think I should congratulate you little one, you have a fair durability for a common Death Eater. I've heard that most of Voldemort's servants do not live so long. You Malfoys certainly are a rare specimen."

Lucius stared at his son without a motion, only small twitching of his lips proved that he was listening. Leontina chuckled diabolically and leaned down to look directly at Draco.

"Still it's odd that my Eminence didn't ask me to take a better care of his _godson_. It was his fault that he chose not to introduce us. Though ... when I think about it, maybe he hinted something about your common past... Honestly, I wasn't paying much attention to him lately. You must understand; we are having quite a fight about his excesses and to retaliate a bit I wanted to punish him and make him at least a little angry. Killing you seemed to be one of the simplest ways. It would make him notice me... I bet you know what I mean when I speak of the things you do from love and jealousy..."

Draco's back came into contact with the wall again. It was then when he realized that he and his father kept ebbing away from the gloating vampire until they were completely cornered.

"I have nothing personal against you two," she said lovingly, "but if your death serves my purpose then I won't waste this chance. Dragomir will no longer look over me, I'll make sure of that. He might have forgotten it, but neither you, nor Voldemort is his most precious person."

Lucius tried to raise Draco's wand, which he still clutched desperately, but she caught his wrist with ease and pushed it away.

"That person is me," she hissed, her eyes ablaze. "And I will allow no one to steal him away from me..."

"We don't want to do such a thing! Killing us won't help you, because he's going to hate you!" Draco screamed, clutching at father's shoulders.

"Tche, stupid kid. You shall know that the worst killer of a long-term relationship is indifference. Hatred, on the other hand, is a spice of our existence. Sometimes it's really easy to step over a thin borderline of love and hate."

"You ... you're sick!" Lucius coughed and Draco quickly supported him as his knees buckled.

"That's only your pitiful mortal point of view, little boy," she smiled nastily. "In my opinion..."

She hushed up all of a sudden.

Draco failed to notice the change at first. It was a minute or so later when he finally registered that the whole place grew completely silent. No one was crying or screaming anymore. If possible, the prison appeared even more menacing.

"Aren't you two lucky brats?" Leontina whispered and sneered before she took two steps back and knelt down. In the same moment a long shadow fell over their faces.

A tall hooded figure appeared at the corner, holding a torch in hand. With his fast measured pace he overcame the distance and before long he stood within the reach, towering above them.

"Leontina," he spoke icily. "You will answer your absolute lack of obedience."

"Yes, My Eminence," she whispered with her head bowed as a sign of subordination, but her lips were still curled into a wry smile.

The cape moved as the black clad male straightened up to look at Malfoys. For the first time since he met him, Draco wasn't absolutely terrified to see the Leader - his _godfather_. He was merely scared, which meant a definite improvement.

"Good evening, Draco. Pray tell me boy, what are you doing here? This is quite a dangerous place to visit even without Leontina's foolish attempts on your life ... oh ... my, my..." The torch he held in his hand sank lower as he noticed the other man.

"Lucius? Is it you, my little boy?"

Draco felt his father froze beneath his fingers, which still clutched on his tense shoulders.

"Dragomir," the older Malfoy finally said in a toneless voice and then he nearly disappeared in the Leader's embrace. His son could only stare in amazement. He had never seen a vampire hug anyone; it was unusual even among vampires as some of them might consider it as an attack. Strange or not, the truth was that Negura couldn't be defined as a 'normal' vampire by any measure. As if he heard what Draco thought, the Leader chuckled and let go of the completely petrified magician. Then he pulled out a wand and placed it at Malfoy's injured throat. With a simple flick the wound sealed, making the man sigh in relief.

"Let's go my friend, we have a lot to talk about," Negura spoke in his once again melodic voice, smiling contently. Draco immediately noticed it. A cold creeping ran up his spine at the sight of those long fangs bared in an innocent smile. It brought up unpleasant thoughts of why it was so much better to work for the Dark Lord rather then a vampire.

_No matter what, t__he Dark Lord would never consider them as a potential snack. _

*****

_Crawley Hospital, Crawley, Southern England_

_22__nd__ December 2000, 11:15_

"There you are."

Harry licked his crusty lower lip and adjusted a pair of old angular spectacles on his nose. His eyes remained glued to that single name in the list of patients for a little longer before he closed them and pinched the bridge of his nose. No doubt, Dr. Daniel Rodgers was exceptionally kind for lending him these glasses once he noticed the poor quality of his eyesight. Recuperation of a relatively sharp vision was certainly welcomed, but the number of diopters wasn't exactly what Harry needed to feel comfortable and in the end the difference caused him a severe headache. Not that he was going to complain to the doctor. Harry had a feeling that Mr. Rodgers wouldn't be thrilled to see him after he stole a wheelchair and disappeared to kidnap a patient from the ICU ward. Just a thought of it made him feel like a trash. He was actually betraying a trust of a man who went into a trouble of rescuing him.

If only there was some other way how to do this. If only he could explain _why _he was doing this. Harry would be thrilled to tell him that he was trying to return his favor.

But as usual, his heroic deeds were foredoomed to remain unnoticed by public. Why should he even bother? If he was correct, more than half of a British wizarding community was currently convinced of his felonious intents, so why not let the muggles think the same?

Harry's lips curved into a bitter grin and he had to purse them repeatedly to wipe it off. He always felt this bad when he recalled how several people he knew openly impeached his loyalty to the Light side after that woeful incident at the very end of the battle of Hogwarts. They accused him that he refused to fight Voldemort in order to torture a poor Auror who merely missed a true target.

The fact that _that poor guy_ killed Ginny didn't matter.

Neither his own suffering mattered. According to them he wasn't supposed to feel, he was supposed fight.

And the readers of the Daily Prophet went all the way with this idea. Everyone looked for a scapegoat, someone to blame for Voldemort's survival, and Harry was a perfect one. He was after all their Savior; condemned to be sacrificed for Greater Good. So they condemned him and sacrificed him.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut as the throbbing pain in his temples increased.

It wasn't enough to divert his thoughts, though. He was once again thinking over the whole process. What the accusers didn't understand was why he gave priority to his personal feelings ahead of his task. They probably couldn't comprehend that he still had a heart. No matter what terrors he was forced to face or how many times he survived by mere a miracle, nothing managed to destroy it. His heart may be broken now, but it was still there, telling him what's right and what's wrong and he listened to it as always. After all, even Dumbledore told him that this is his greatest weapon and protection and he should be proud to have it intact.

So when his heart insisted to avenge Ginny's death, then he couldn't act otherwise. When it told him hours ago to save the Dark Lord, he couldn't protest long. And now when it was urging him to go and protect these muggles from a threat that Voldemort represents, he didn't hesitate a second.

Regrettably, what his heart didn't tell him was how he should do that without his wand and with his right leg trapped in a plaster.

His thought process was bought to a sudden halt when a swing door in front of him swiftly opened, bringing an intense odor of disinfection into the corridor. Just a split second later a couple of doctors emerged there and Harry froze in his wheelchair, trying to look as unobtrusively as possible. As a matter of course, he failed terribly and prepared himself to be questioned immediately. He already opened his mouth to say something when he registered that the men passed him without a second glance, fully consumed in their conversation.

He had to admit it that sometimes he was incredibly lucky. Not wishing to waste a great chance which was so strikingly offered to him, he spun wheels of his wheelchair and slid into the ward before the door could close completely. Once inside, he sighed in relief that no other surprise in a form of a curious doctor was waiting for him there. He found himself in another long, sterile-looking room equipped with several mobile clinical beds, one rather large cabinet for protective overshoes and a small notice board on the wall. Oh, there were also three more doors and behind one of them was presumably a patient named Walter Moore, who certainly couldn't wish less for Harry to pay him a visit. The raven haired youngster smirked at the thought and moved the wheelchair closer to the first entrance to take a look inside.

Slowly, carefully he pushed on the left leaf of the door and peered in. He could see the light coming through the chink. Taking a deep breath he pushed a little harder - and the door threw fully open.

For a brief moment Harry gaped at the white coat at the level of his eyes before he gradually bent his head backward.

Who else could stand there than Dr. Rodgers, eyeing him with surprise and curiosity?

Sometimes, in the moments like this, Harry wondered whether he wasn't one of the most luckless person who ever walked the earth.

The older male blinked once, twice and then - to Harry's astonishment - smiled.

"Here you are, Mr. Potter," he spoke kindly. "I was looking for you. We were afraid that you've got lost. Honesty, you should have told me that you wanted to see your friend so badly and not wander on your own. I could easily arrange it for you. I owe you a lot, right?"

Harry couldn't say whether he was more relieved for slipping away so easily or irritated for looking like an idiot. He cursed himself for a blush reaching up his cheeks, though secretly was glad that Daniel didn't seem to notice.

"Uh ... err ... he's not my friend," he stuttered to break the embarrassing silence.

"Oh, sure, I almost forgot," Daniel said and his smile spread wider. "So, do you want to see him or not?"

Harry distractedly nodded and watched the doctor step aside to allow him in. The youngster gulped, took a deep breath and pushed his wheelchair forward to face his nightmare once again.

Only the man lying on a sickbed in front of him didn't look like his nightmare anymore. It wasn't because his looks were altered in some way, no, Harry was certain that his appearance hasn't changed a bit. What shocked him most was the way how Voldemort looked so completely harmless and defenseless. Was it even possible for this poor, emaciated creature wrapped in blankets to be also the all powerful and malevolent Dark Lord? It seemed so surreal, that Harry unconsciously stopped his wheelchair and simply stared at him agape. This picture was so wrong and absurd in every possible sense. Maybe he secretly didn't expect the Dark Lord to be here. Maybe he was more prone to believe that everything what happened over the last few days was a figment of his wild imagination and an alcohol induced damage of his brain.

But it wasn't. The proof was there, right before his eyes.

"Are you all right, Mr. Potter?" A warm hand on his shoulder woke him from a stupor. The youngster shook his head to come back to senses, but the doctor misinterpreted the meaning.

"I suppose, it must be a shock for you to see him like that," he said kindly and clutched Harry's shoulder tighter.

"You have no idea," the young man rasped, his eyes never leaving the recumbent figure. "Can I come closer?" he asked hesitantly as if afraid to wake Riddle if he spoke too loud. His body was tense, unconsciously expecting Voldemort to jump from the bed any second and attack him.

"Sure," the doctor replied calmly and Harry found the power to move from the spot and get a little closer. And then again. And again, until he stopped right by his bedside.

He scrutinized his nemesis for a while and after he came to conclusion that it was safe to carry on, he cautiously leaned forward to inspect the pale face. Voldemort looked so _peaceful_ and almost _fragile_. The young man never thought that he would ever use these two words to describe his appearance. But he couldn't think of anything else as he studied the relaxed features which usually held so much malice. Perhaps it was also because he wasn't subjected to that fierce, hateful look which was so typical for the Dark Lord. Without this lethal glare Voldemort's threatening aura substantially dissipated.

"He's got quite fascinating eyes, hasn't he?" Harry quickly looked up, realizing that he and his unconscious enemy weren't alone. Daniel stood on the other side of the bed, a familiar stethoscope in one hand and something like a pencil in the other.

"And those slits instead of nose are absolutely unique as well. Though why would anyone want to undergo this kind of plastic surgery is far beyond my understanding." As he spoke he reached out to touch the Dark Lord's face and lift one of his eyelids.

Harry immediately paled and shifted away. He didn't even bother to explain that Voldemort would never allow a surgeon to touch his face like that. That also meant that Dr. Rodgers was currently in a mortal peril.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," he tried to warn him, but Daniel just smiled and placed the pencil-like thing which Harry soon identified as a small flashlight above the immobile blood-red eye.

"It's all right; he's still asleep and he will be like this for next few hours. You see - no reaction."

Indeed, as Harry leaned back, he noticed that the slightly dilated slit shaped pupil surrounded by a crimson sea showed no contraction. But the further evidence of Voldemort's insensibility was the doctor, who was still clearly alive.

"When I first saw these eyes I was certain that he wears contacts. It surprised me a lot to find out that I was wrong," Daniel continued and Harry shuddered at the thought of how exactly the doctor came to know the fact. Then, to his huge relief, the doctor ceased hold of the Dark Lord's face to change the instruments.

"You're the first one to describe his eyes as something 'fascinating'. Most of the people I know call them absolutely terrifying," Harry said once he found his lost voice. It was flustering to watch the doctor work with that arrant serenity and discretion. If Mr. Rodgers noticed Harry's restlessness, he didn't show anything.

"Yeah, they are certainly unusual," Daniel replied and glanced in Harry's direction as he placed the stethoscope on Voldemort's bare thin chest. "Like the most things about him. But I wouldn't call them scary; that's too immoderate statement."

After a short contemplation Harry decided not to argue about this. Bemused, he rather watched a metal end cap of the instrument glide over Riddle's snowy skin. Slowly, he began to relax and notice some minor details which he overlooked before. One of them was an awful, fresh-looking scar at the base of the Dark Lord's neck. He wondered what sort of beast could possibly cause a harm of this extent. It could be an unchanged werewolf, or maybe even a vampire. Voldemort can call himself lucky for surviving this. Then there was a vast dark bruise over his chest. The striking colour contrast of the mark and the white skin made him wonder what could possibly happen to him. Harry's eyes gradually slid lower to the place where the Dark Lord's left arm was folded over the blankets. He had to chuckle at the sight of a plaster enveloping his whole hand and a forearm up to his elbow. The other arm was neatly placed beside his body, connected to two infusions. It was then when Harry noticed that one of the solutions had a suspiciously crimson colour. The hint of his smile disappeared.

"What is this?" he asked breathlessly, gazing at the plastic container.

The doctor caught his glance and grinned. "Oh, that one ... what do you think?"

Recognition hit Harry like a truck.

"Are you insane?-!" he sputtered incredulously at the physician. "For heaven's sake, how could you give him muggle blood?-!"

The doctor stared back, speechless, and it took Harry good five seconds to realize that the man couldn't possibly comprehend what made him so angry. But it wasn't the fact that Voldemort was given muggle blood which brought this kind of reaction on Harry's side. It was the conception of the consequences once the Dark Lord finds this out.

Meanwhile Harry was experiencing a vision of doom Daniel folded his arms over his chest and hesitantly spoke. His deep brown eyes regarded the young wizard with a clear confusion.

"I have absolutely no idea of what you mean by a term 'muggle blood'," he said. "But I assure that this blood is a perfectly normal A+ type from a healthy donor. All tests proven it to be viruses less, so there's no reason to be worried... eh ... Harry? You don't look very well. Maybe I shall take you back to your room."

Harry couldn't speak. He fisted his raven hair and stared at Voldemort in fear. His enemy - as if mocking him - still slept quietly, blissful unawareness etched into his features.

"We're _so dead_," the youngster whispered soundlessly, unable to tear his eyes off the sight.

"Harry." Daniel circled the bed and stopped beside him. He even bent down a little to look into his dark-green eyes.

"I don't know what's wrong. Tell me, please. Or shall I take a guess? Maybe ... does he belong among those people who refuse transfusions no matter what? I've heard something about their controversial attitude. But, even if I knew this about him, I'd still have to give him that blood. He had an acute shortage of his own due to large internal injuries. It was a miracle that he was still alive when we reached the hospital. I admit, his ability to heal may be marvellous - his spleen had been ruptured and his body managed to repair it, it's something normal people can only dream about - but trust me when I say that no matter how long he managed to stay alive, he would ultimately die without a proper treatment."

His finger demonstratively pointed at the almost empty blood container. Harry nodded blankly.

"I believe you, doctor. You don't have to explain it to me. But if you're wise, you will never to try to explain it to him."

"Call me Daniel, Harry. If you don't mind," the man said with a small smile and sat down at the edge of the bed, observing the resting man. "He's the most special patient I've ever had. Surely, every doctor must be sort of 'obsessed' by him. That's why he hates them so much, doesn't he?"

Harry nodded. "Yes, Daniel, he does. Immensely."

The older man put the stethoscope around his neck and his smile turned sad as he spoke again.

"I guess I also shouldn't tell him that I nearly broke three of his ribs when I was trying to bring him back to life. You see that bruise, don't you? Unfortunately, we couldn't use a defibrillator for resuscitation. Believe it, anytime we tried, the fuses burned away in flames. He must have some bizarre power to destroy whatever electrical instrument connected to his body. And as a result I'm bound to attend him like a physician from the nineteenth century. It's bizarre, really."

Harry realized that indeed, Voldemort was connected to none of the sophisticated instruments around his sickbed. He of course knew why those things happened, the cave incident was enough of a proof that a powerful wizard shouldn't mess with electricity. He only wished that he could find an explanation for the doctor which wouldn't sound either lame or stupid. Naturally, he couldn't tell the truth.

"So his heart stopped for a while," he rather said when nothing clever occurred to him. Daniel nodded his assent and joined the younger man in watching the Dark Lord pensively.

"Yeah, several times. I must say that it was very enervating to keep him alive. Though I never contemplated giving up on him," he admitted and after that they sat in silence for a good minute.

When Harry finally spoke again there was a certain resolution in his voice.

"I see. I really think it's time for him to completely reconsider his opinion about muggles."

"Oh, here comes that word again. What exactly does it mean?" Daniel asked curiously.

For the first time in a while Harry couldn't resist a real smile as he looked at the older guy.

"It's a name for great people like you, Daniel. Please, don't feel bothered."

The small crease between doctor's brows smoothed and corners of his lips quirked upwards.

"Honestly, Harry, as long as it is not a mugger, I don't mind. And now, if it is all right with you, I shall take you back to your room. You also need to rest."

"Daniel," Harry nervously budged up in his seat as the doctor rose, "before we go, there's something urgent I need to tell you. I know that it may not look that way but it's a serious thing. Listen, it's essential to take Walter Moore out of this hospital before he awakes and you're the only person who can help me to achieve that."

The doctor slowly straightened his shoulders, looked at him strangely, but the thing which haunted Harry most was a sudden lack of response.

"Doctor Rodgers, I desperately need to get to London and he must come with me. All I ask of you is to take us there. Can you do that for me? _Please_."

The silence continued as Daniel turned to look at Voldemort and back at Harry repeatedly. The young wizard had to bit his lips to stop himself from begging more.

Finally the older man sighed and shook his head.

"Harry, as much as I want to help you, I don't think I can. Do you even realize what you want from me? I can't possibly write a permit for a patient from ICU ward. He requires a constant medical care and even with his special healing powers he will need it for at least another day. Taking him away would mean to threaten his life and I can't allow that."

"Daniel, I assure you that...," Harry began.

"Are you a doctor, Harry?" the older man butted in.

"No, but..."

"Then how can you assure me about anything?"

"But some of my friends in London are," Harry finished the sentence. He'd rather if he didn't have to say half-truths; lying wasn't his forte. Damn it, if he had a wand he would simply confound this man and get over with it. "I would call them to come for me but I can't. I don't have their phone numbers. Remember, all of my personal belongings are at the bottom of the river. You really are my last hope, doctor."

Harry leaned forward in the wheelchair, boring his eyes into the other man with such a force that Daniel ultimately looked away and slowly nodded.

"I'm obliged to help you, Harry, so I will take you where you want. Tomorrow. That's my last word. Now if you excuse me I have to arrange Mr. Moore's transfer to your ward. Nurse Ross will come to take you back to your room."

As the doctor left Harry turned his head back to Voldemort. "Damn," he cursed quietly and rubbed his sore temple. "You see, we'll leave tomorrow ... if the hospital is still here by that time."

*****

_London, the Ministry of Magic_

_22__nd__ December 2000, 01:15_

_The Ministry of Magic is no longer what it used to be_, Draco thought solemnly as he and his father went shoulder to shoulder down its halls and corridors. _It used to be such a quiet place during nights_, he remembered as they passed a group of hungry looking vampires who eyed them like a walking dainty. They were safe from those beasts at the moment because Negura and Leontina strode right behind them like their bodyguards, debating quietly. Draco wondered whether he should use a chance and try to ask his father about what happened back at Azkaban. He wanted to know more, but he would prefer to have this conversation somewhere private. In the end he decided to wait, stay quiet and listen to what the two vampires at his heels talked about.

"...you know that I would never betray you, My Eminence. All I desire is your favor, you used to lavish me with your presence and now when I'm without it I feel so lonely. Why don't we start again where we stopped? There's so much more I can give you..."

"Be quiet, Leontina," Negura piercingly turned her down. "When will you finally understand that it's over? Stop living in the past. And if you want me to treat you better then you must not undermine my trust by your disrespectful behavior."

Draco gulped idly. So Leontina's attempt on his life was nothing more than a small incorrectness in the Leader's eyes.

"_But you__ surely know that you can trust me most of all, right?*"_ she whispered urgently, switching to her mother tongue by nature.

"I'm not so certain anymore," he retorted quietly. Draco managed to hear it as they were now really close behind them. It was because his father almost stopped, waiting to be instructed where to go further. Negura and Leontina didn't pay them any attention. They halted as well, the woman holding the sleeve of the Leader's robe, watching him intently.

"_I have something for you to prove my endless devotion,__*" _she said eagerly as if she wished to be praised.

"What is it?" he asked flatly, without a grain of interest in his voice.

In response she drew out a small black box from the hem of her robe. Draco realized that it looked like a ring box as he cast a cautious glance in their direction. The Leader merely smirked and folded his arms over his chest. She opened the box and pulled out – nothing? Draco blinked in confusion and tried to focus his eyes, but still he couldn't see anything. She held her forefinger and thumb firmly pressed together in front of Negura's face as if she boasted about something.

"I wanted to give you this sooner, but you never had a time for me."

The Leader didn't move or speak, so she continued.

"I found it in your bedroom – or more specifically in your _bed _just a few hours after you told me about that robbery. It's a human hair, my darling. A beautiful, long, curly girl's hair to be exact. It smells like strawberry syrup," she said and demonstratively sniffed it. "Hmm, lovely. She must be a witch – and a young one. I dare to guess that she's in Draco's age. So either you had a visitor you forgot to mention or this evidence belongs to your little thief."

Finally Negura moved. He seized the hair and brought it close to his nose as well.

"Coincidentally, no one came to visit me at that time, so maybe you're actually right. Thank you for this Leontina. But don't think that I forgave you completely..." He stopped speaking because she leaned to him and kissed him with so much passion that Draco had to turn his head away, blushing all over his face. It didn't last long, though. Negura swiftly pushed her away, wiped off his lips and went on as if nothing happened.

"I will find this girl and maybe even allow her to experience how it is to share my bed if she wants to know it so much. Then I'll finish her off."

Leontina stared at him as if he just slapped her face, but he paid her no heed.

"Draco, Lucius, follow me," he ordered strictly as he passed them. Draco looked at his father briefly and their eyes met for a second. Then they looked away and without a single word went ahead to meet their unsure fate.

_**R&R**_

**Author's note:** Once again every sentence in Romanian is formatted _italic_ and marked *

This chapter took me longer to finish than I expected. I swear I'm not growing lazy! It's because I didn't like the first version very much so I had to rewrite it. Please, let me know what you think. Oh, before I forget I must send a special thanks to my faithful reviewers. Your support means a lot for me!


	23. Tattoos

**Author's note: **First of all, thanks for all your kind reviews. They encourage me a lot to continue in this story. Unfortunately, I couldn't reply to all of you, so I would like to do it now.

**ExSquared****:** Thank you! XD Don't worry, there will be some intriguing Voldemort x Negura action in a not very far future.

**flyei**: I'm very glad that you read and enjoy my story and that you composed such a comprehensive review about the previous chapter. I must confirm that the changes in POV were unintended and I'll try to be more careful to avoid them. However, I can't completely agree with you about Lucius being out of his character. He is usually refined, of course, but I couldn't imagine him act like that after three years in Azkaban. Besides, he had a huge hole in his neck and nearly witnessed his son's death. So, if you think he acts different than usual, then it was completely intended. Hopefully, you'll agree with me and you'll find this story interesting even in the future!

**Sha****ïva**: Your review made me absolutely happy. I had no idea that there are people who actually read my story but can't post their review. I promise I'll do my best to keep the characters true and the storyline entertaining till the end.

**Miriette Le Fay**: My story is really your favourite? Wow! That's great, thanks a lot! I hope this chapter will satisfy your curiosity! ;-)

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**Tattoos**

_Crawley Hospital, Crawley, Southern England_

_22__nd__ December 2000, 11:40_

Much to Harry's dislike, nurse Ross came for him sooner than he expected. That brief moment of privacy he was given wasn't enough to help him sort things out. He only started to contemplate the weird relationship he and Voldemort shared and was far from coming up with some final resolve. During several last days he had to make many questionable decisions without a possibility of deeper consideration. His instincts may be a good thing and he relied upon them a lot, but act solely on the way he felt may go terribly awry. Harry was very well aware of the fact that Voldemort was an extremely dangerous wizard who tried to kill him many times over. From that point of view nothing could ever alter their mutual dislike and intolerance. Still, if that was the case, why didn't he leave his archenemy in that frozen quarry? He would win that endless fight without any special effort. His decision to play some sort of sick, twisted hero was bordering with absurdity in retrospect. He tried to blame it on the weak emotional and physical state he was in after many days of starving and freezing in the cave, only to feel pitiful for lying to himself. The truth was somewhere else. Against all expectations he really felt that something subtly changed between them, in spite of the fact that he had no idea of what it was or when did it happen.

Harry realized this simply because there have to be a reason why he just dawdled by Riddle's sickbed with his hands folded in his lap. Surely, any other member of the Order would use this remarkable and unrepeatable chance of the Dark Lord's utter helplessness to slaughter him without a mercy. Then how could he, the Chosen One, only sit here and twiddle his thumbs?

Harry snorted quietly and looked up at the young blond nurse who began to twitter about some nonsense. Uninterested, he turned back to face the Dark Lord. If he wanted an excuse, he didn't have to think long. He would be damned if he ever declined low enough to slay Voldemort in sleep. He couldn't even imagine himself committing such a horrendous crime in the first place. Perhaps, he would be able to kill in self-defence or in order to protect his friends, but goddamn him if he would become a murderer just because Trelawney told him so.

"So, tell me Mr. Potter, what planet does he come from?"

Harry was completely absorbed in thoughts, so he only heard the last one from plenty of questions which the nurse hurled at him. The greater was his surprise and displeasure when he finally started to pay her full attention.

"Excuse me?" he choked once he found his breath. He felt like prodding his ears to ensure that he heard correctly.

"Oh, come on, seriously, he isn't a human, is he?" she said playfully. "He doesn't even look like one. Frankly, I think he's an alien from a spaceship who tried (not very successfully) to take a human form to study our society from inside. I mean, look at him, he's far from any definition of normality and it's not just the lack of his nose, hair or his queer eyes. If we consider all the accidents which happened with our equipment, his strange bodily functions, inhuman healing powers etc. then it's the only logical conclusion. Besides, have you ever heard of anyone who can live without the slightest trace of sugar in their blood? Ordinary people die when their glucose level drops to a certain degree. It makes me wonder where his body takes the vital energy."

She combed her fingers through the strand of peroxide hair which kept on falling to her face and eyed the young wizard expectantly.

Harry had no idea how to response. For some reason he felt somewhat offended on behalf of Voldemort.

Nurse Ross immediately noticed his hesitation and used it as a chance to continue her babble.

"I had an animated argument with Andrea about this. We're both hard-core fans of The X Files. You know the series, right? Unlike me, she's convinced that he's not an alien but some abortive product of genetic engineering. I think that you as the only person who seems to know him a bit can bring some light into this mystery."

She smiled sweetly and also winked at him as if trying to flirt with him, but Harry for his irritation didn't notice.

According to his opinion, she was no longer only rude, her behavior turned out to be obnoxious. He gritted his teeth and tried to hold back everything he wanted to say in return. It was beyond his understanding that Voldemort could still lay there like a lazar taking the offence without a single word of protest. When Harry's inner tension reached a limit of his endurance, he sputtered out his indignation.

"I hope you realize that this is not amusing in the slightest! What you just said was very insulting! I can't say I like this man, but I feel like I should defend him when he can't do this for himself. He's a human, not some crazy alien and definitely not some product of genetic manipulation! Besides, I thought that you're not supposed to violate his privacy by telling me about his health state. You know what? Do me a favour and take me back to my ward without any further stupid comments."

To Harry's satisfaction the colour of her face turned to a bright shade of red.

"I'm sorry if I offended you," she spoke hesitantly even though her voice wasn't very apologetic. She stepped behind him to drive his wheelchair towards the swing door.

"Hey, this is absolutely not about me!" Harry hissed through his teeth while silently thinking: _'Lucky you he's still unconscious.'_

The nurse didn't seem to mind his aggravation.

"Funny, I had no idea that you're friends, but it should have occurred to me when you insisted to see him so much."

At this point Harry ultimately gave up his efforts to convince people around about the opposite.

"He's surely special in many positive ways as well. Let me think..." As the nurse continued in her endeavour to have a witty conversation with him (from her point of view), Harry silently wondered how to make her stop talking about Voldemort in that particularly degrading way.

"Yeah, I got it!" she said cheerfully all of sudden. "It's his tattoos; I think they are pretty cool. The one on his left forearm is almost scary, but those on his back are really awesome. I'd love to have them too. Do you also have a tattoo, Harry?"

"Fortunately not," Harry retorted before he fully realized what she said.

"Hang on... He's got some tattoos on his back?" Immediately, he was very curious. His sudden interest made nurse Ross snigger in gratification.

"Oh yes, over his shoulder blades. You didn't know about it?"

"No," Harry huffed, feeling a bit stupid about the next question. "What does it display?"

Now she actually laughed, multiplying Harry's exasperation.

"I can't tell you, dear. I don't want you to accuse me for giving you more of his personal data. You can ask Mr. Moore once he awakes. He'll certainly show you if he wants to."

'_Yeah, like hell he will_,_'_ Harry thought bitterly. For the rest of the transfer he remained gruff and silent and minimized his talk to nurse Ross to the one word answers. Deep inside, he was bothered with this new discovery. He was certain that whatever the tattoo on Voldemort's back meant it wasn't there for beautifying purposes. He had to find out what it was and for what intent Voldemort used it. Could it be a new way of contacting his army? Is the Dark Mark going to be replaced? Those unanswered questions bothered him to complete restlessness. He knew that the only chance to find it out more was to go back to ICU and have a look, but he couldn't do it without anyone noticing and that would be too suspicious. At the moment he couldn't say what stressed him most. It could be easily both, the fact that Voldemort will awake anytime soon and the knowledge of the secrets he failed to unveil.

About two hours later, when he was already being eaten up by depression to the core, something happened what definitely rouse him from his muse.

Doctor Rodgers appeared at the door, dressed in civil clothes, holding a medical briefcase in one hand and a travelling bag in the other.

"Harry," he said without further introduction, "Get ready, we are leaving. I'll explain the change of plan in the car."

Harry nearly fell from the bed as he rushed to take the medical coat which the doctor drew out of the bag and handed over. "Take this. I don't want you to catch a cold now when you're recovering so fast. I'll borrow you some clothes once we're at my house. You can't take yours, it's dirty and stinks."

"Thanks a lot, Daniel. And what about Volde – I mean Walter?"

"He's coming with us, of course. It looks safe enough as he's already begun to wake up. The risk of relapse is minimal."

"So you're taking us to your house?" Harry asked as he buttoned up the coat.

"Yeah, hopefully you don't mind to spend a night there. By the way, no need to worry for Mr. Moore. I can offer him any necessary medical care he might require and tomorrow morning I'll take you both to London as promised."

Harry felt like he might drown in a flood of relief.

"Thank you, Daniel ... I mean, really, thanks a lot." The doctor Rodgers smiled and came over to help him get up, but before he could Harry was already on feet, testing sturdiness of his plaster. Once he found necessary balance he strode as fast as he could toward the exit and there he looked back at the doctor who stared after him in surprise.

"Eh ... do you think we can go now, Daniel?"

After seeing that the doctor smiled widely and followed his lead.

*****

_A meadow nearby the Burrow _

_22__nd__ December 2000, morning_

The first sunrays squeezed their way through a soft mist hovering over a frosted landscape. An almost imperceptible whiff of warmer air hinted the oncoming, long-awaited thaw. Hermione shuddered and pressed her chilled hands to her mouth and breathed on her fingers to regain some warmth in them. She tried to hide her nervousness, but without much avail. Every now and then she had to glance around to insure she wasn't alone. Fortunately, Ron stood dutifully about fifteen feet from her, glowering at the mist swirling in a low bosk before him, and by her right side she knew that Neville and the others were holding their positions as well.

Neville, her former schoolmate, arrived yesterday from Moldavia, where he studied newly discovered magical plants. Alike him, many wizards and witches were coming home once they heard about the lurking upheaval on the Ministry so they could offer a helping hand. Luna, Dean, Seamus, Hannah, Terry and other members of Dumbledore's Army announced their return in a day or two. On the other hand, many people were leaving as usual when Voldemort or similar outlaws showed unforeseen activity.

Sometimes Hermione truly wished she could live in a place where she didn't have to be frightened for her dearest anymore.

A low growl coming from a bush in front of her instantly brought her back to reality. She resolutely raised her wand and tried to hold her breath steady. The last moments before the attack were always the worst.

As expected, the next moment she finally saw them. Dozens of figures slowly materialized in the haze, strolling unhurriedly towards them.

"Get ready!" she heard Arthur's shout which the monsters took as a sign to begin their attack.

Hermione's wand cut through the air and the first two bodies fell on the ground. They didn't stay there long, however, and soon they crawled back on feet. She tried not to lose a track of the others, but they were moving too fast.

"Hermione, watch out! Behind you!" Ron yelped from nearby and she turned to him and saw how he kicked the nearest vampire clawing at his neck in the shank. The monster stumbled and fell over right on the wooden stake, which he drew out. Ron didn't wait to check whether he killed it or nor and run over to help her.

"Use your stakes!" he screamed at her, but his voice was drowned out by much stronger one.

"Ron! What are you doing?-! You must hold your position!" Kingsley chided from somewhere unseen.

"Stakes? Stakes?-! I can't stab them, Ron! It's ... it's repulsive!" Hermione shouted in union with the former Minister and put a full bind on the three closest creatures in the row.

"It's not as if we have a choice!" he whined and turned to another one who was right beside her. "You must do it just like that!" And with an awful splashing sound he thrusted the wooden pole through the vampire's chest.

"I can't!" she screeched.

Ron started to feel seriously irked.

"It's a dead body, Hermione! You're not really killing it! Stop being overly considerate, they are not some poor, miserable house-elves!"

"How can you say that? They move, they think, they talk, they do all these things! What if some of our friends were turned into vampires! Would you stab them while screaming 'Monster!'? What if Harry...," she stopped her tirade and began to sob loudly.

Ron found no answer to that. He stood totally dumbfounded beside her until Kingsley curtly announced the end of the practice and stepped outside of the bush. The rabid vampires disappeared on that instant.

"Would you do that? Would you kill Harry, Ron?" she asked with a teary, pleading expression. Her boyfriend looked at her completely taken aback and then he pouted.

"Of course I would never do that!" he huffed and scratched his long nose.

"Which would be a fatal mistake."

They both turned to look at Ron's father who said that horrible sentence.

"Because no vampire would ever hesitate to use such an advantage against you," Arthur added in a low voice and stepped closer, followed by Fred, Percy and Neville.

"Come on, dad," Ron laughed nervously. "We're talking about Harry. He wouldn't do such a thing. Besides, he's surely all right. We just have to find him, that's all. And if we get rid of vampires in the process, it will merely be a bonus."

Before Mr. Weasley could question his son's words, Kingsley came up as well and spoke in a deep voice.

"What the two of you were doing here? If you haven't noticed, this was a serious training. If they were real vampires you both would be long dead."

Hermione worried her bottom lip and after a moment of thinking she looked up.

"We are not Aurors, Kingsley," she said resolutely. "We don't know how to slaughter vampires. No one ever taught us before. I ... hate to say this, but I don't think we have a chance against them."

Ron opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off. "No Ron, try to be realistic once. Objectively, vampires are active only in the dark, you can hardly see them." She pointedly looked around the beautiful shiny morning, which they chose for practice. The mist nearly disappeared. "They can fly and they are very fast," she continued. "They are masters of self-transfiguration. And though they can be stopped by magic, they can't be destroyed by any known curse. You have to stab their heart by a wooden stake to truly kill them which means you have to come close enough. We can never succeed in this! Aurors are trained for years before they truly start to hunt down these night creatures."

Shacklebolt carefully listened to her complaint and then briefly nodded at the end.

"Hermione, I absolutely understand your worries, but this is not about some war against vampires yet. Even with the reinforcement coming, it's still too little of us to openly fight them. What we need to do is inform the public as The Daily Prophet keeps the tradition of being completely useless. We also need to rescue wizards and witches who are still alive at Ministry. Vampires surely keep them there as 'food supplies', so they don't need to attack more people than necessary. It's an easy way how to stay in secret and avoid panic. However, without anyone to feed on they'll have to leave the safety of underground. Besides, if we succeed in our task, the rescued ones can give us information about who's behind this. I personally suspect that Umbridge's highest advisor, The Leader. He was exceedingly mysterious for an official, wasn't he?"

When Hermione mulled this over, Arthur used the brief pause to invite them home.

"Let's go inside and talk about this over a cup of tea. It's too cold here."

"Yeah, my toes are freezing," George agreed.

"That's because you wear those ridiculous shoes from your shop. Why exactly did you put them on when they change size every moment?" Percy inquired and critically looked at his younger brother.

"Why do you ask when you just said the reason? I personally think that my Multi-size Shoes are perfect. They never pinch me twice in the same place."

Percy rolled his eyes, Ron laughed and Hermione shook her head and turned over to catch what Neville was saying to the former Minister.

"There's one thing I really don't understand. There are dozens of Aurors at the Ministry. Why aren't they fighting? They should have been able to stop it at the beginning!"

"Oh," Kingsley sighed, "Good point, boy. The problem is that they can't."

Neville's eyebrow scrunched in confusion.

Why's that?"

"Because they weren't ordered to. I know you find it strange, but let me explain. Aurors are generally allowed to act according to their best judgement. They are also allowed to use dark spells which would earn an average wizard many years in Azkaban. This is understandable as they mostly fight dark wizards who don't hesitate to use the worst kind of magic against them. But for this 'freedom' they pay a prize. If they ever contravened the order of the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement or someone from the Minister's office, they would be sentenced in prison for life which is the same punishment as for the Unforgivable curses."

"But why weren't they allowed to fight?-!"

Hermione saw how Neville looked around in confusion, meeting Mr. Weasley's tired gaze.

"It's because Umbridge really doesn't know what's going on, Neville. Before I left Ministry I had heard that she is much more interested in searching for something - let's say - 'top secret', which makes the Leader the one with the control over the Ministry. And if Kingsley is right about him being a vampire, then I think that it explains everything," Arthur replied in a gravel voice and opened the door of the porch.

"Besides, can you imagine Umbitch doing something for us instead of for herself and her own benefit? Nah, don't make me laugh. She's the last one who cares," George commented acidly as he stepped inside and tried to take off his ultra small shoes.

"I agree with Arthur," Hermione nodded. "I don't think she knows she's working with vampires. She would take some immediate countermeasure if she knew, because she hates everything what isn't exactly human. I remember that incident with centaurs five years ago."

"Yeah, right. That's why I think that the Aurors should handle this business without asking her or the Leader. I bet most of them left the Ministry like we did. If we found them and persuaded them to help us then...," Ron broke off as Kingsley squeezed his shoulder.

"Ron, they won't fight against the government! This is not what we want. It would lead us into another civil war! We have to find another solution."

"It's quite simple. We must find Harry! He has that miraculous ability to unite people with the same purpose. That's what we need right now," Hermione announced as they sat down around the old, wooden table and took cups of tea which Mrs. Weasley prepared.

"That would be great of course," Kingsley spoke bemusedly and stirred his beverage. "But somehow I've already begun to lose my faith."

Hermione watched him for a moment and then she looked against the sun coming through a narrow window.

She decided that she won't lose her faith that easily.

*****

_Crowborough, Southern England_

_22__nd__ December 2000, 14:53_

Harry yawned and stretched his back when the white land rover, where he was currently seated, finally stopped. Doctor Rodgers was not half bad as a driver, he was careful enough, though Harry couldn't openly say it because of the plaster which served as a reminder of Daniel's driving skills from two days ago. He should feel anxious for using the same vehicle which also caused him his current predicament but in all honesty, he held no grudge towards the doctor for what happened. Besides, the pain was already gone, so the only physical discomfort he felt was caused by inability to bend his injured leg. Surely, people had to have a lot of fun watching him get into the car. It took some time before he found out that he had to put his immobile limb in the gap between the fore seating and only after that he could finally crawl in. Even now he could still hear nurse's Ross quiet snicker as she ostentatiously helped him. Fortunately, it was the last time he saw her and he couldn't be happier about it.

Concerning the journey, he had nothing to complain about, except of the Dark Lord who was using him as a cushion _again_. Only because Harry was already accustomed to this, he didn't suffer another trauma. After six taxing days spent together in the cave he grew fairly resistant toward his archenemy's proximity. Besides, Voldemort didn't lay on him of his own free will; it was the doctor who said that it would be better if Harry held him for the ride. And because he failed to come with some relevant reasoning why he couldn't do that, he was once again forced to enter Voldemort's most private personal bubble.

Harry was however far from being ecstatic for the Dark Lord's close presence, especially because he _snored_.

It was nothing particularly loud but Harry found it very distracting.

According to his opinion, cruel and evil people shouldn't produce such a ridiculous sounds as it was too mundane for someone like them.

Riddle also talked from time to time, which could prove to be interesting if his prattle made any sense, which of course didn't, so it merely irritated Harry further.

Sometimes, he was almost sure that Voldemort awoke; he even saw him look up for one brief moment before the crimson eyes closed and Riddle grew limp again. The fact that he nearly brought Harry a heart attack didn't seem to bother him in the slightest.

All in all Harry hoped for the ride to be over as soon as possible and his obvious edginess didn't escape the doctor's notice. Poor man was evidently convinced that Harry was being queasy because of that car accident. So they spent most of the time in a heavy silence which was multiplying Harry's headache and left him immensely tired.

Thus, when they eventually arrived and the doctor parked the car in the driveway, Harry merely glanced through his heavy eyelids at a small, neat family house which was embedded in a row of similar tidy residences. A large lawn in front of the house immediately reminded him summer vacations he spent with the Dursleys. Only this lawn was covered with frost and remnants of snow and there was a small spruce in the middle shining with Christmas lights and decorations. It was quite a beautiful sight. Harry was soon awake enough to enjoy watching it and tasting a lovely atmosphere of Christmas. Suddenly he realized he felt a slight prick of envy about Daniel's peaceful ignorance.

Only a true muggle could call Voldemort Walter Moore and invite him to stay overnight!

Blessed ignorance indeed!

_Which is__ mostly my own fault_, Harry mused darkly right away and scratched the small wrinkle between his eyebrows.

Meanwhile, Daniel opened the door on the other site of the car and leaned inside.

"Harry, I know you're tired, but can you help me get him out?"

Before Harry could say a word Daniel seized the Dark Lord under his knees and started to draw him out.

"Hey! Okay, but be careful!" he called quickly and tried to support Voldemort's head and shoulders. Incredulous, he watched how the doctor scooped Riddle into his arms and lifted him up. This was something Harry knew he would never see again. Pity Rita Skeeter wasn't here, she would easily get a photo of the year for her column.

"Follow me, Harry," the Daniel breathed out through gritted teeth and with a great effort carried his burden towards the house. Harry did as he was told; with his broken leg he wasn't much faster so he stayed close behind the doctor. They stepped inside a surprisingly large orange-painted foyer with four white doors leading probably to kitchen and other rooms in the ground floor. Harry looked into a man-sized mirror right next to the entrance and stopped to stare at himself in surprise. He was always lean but now he was a way thinner than before, especially in his face. Or maybe it was because he wore those angular glasses which made him look a lot older. Gosh, he almost looked like his father when he saw him in the Mirror of Erised many years ago. He shook his head to forget that thought and quickly followed Daniel, who was with some difficulty climbing the stairs leading to the upper floor. The young wizard felt a distinct sympathy towards the man as remembered how heavy Voldemort's body was. He might be terribly skinny but still that guy was almost seven feet tall. At these circumstances he could distinctly appreciate the power of the magic within him. If he had a wand, he would simply levitate them both without the slightest effort.

"Potter..."

"Yeah?" Harry asked, once again deep in thoughts. Only a second later he came to realize that it wasn't the doctor's voice.

"I think he's asking after you," Daniel said as he caught a breath and turned to look at Harry who froze in shock.

"Huh ... hurry, Daniel," he stammered as he gazed at Voldemort's long pale fingers which clenched repeatedly and into his face which was a display of tension. The blood-red eyes were still closed but it was only a question of minutes now.

"Right," the doctor ground out and led them into an average-sized, cozy chamber. Harry immediately noticed that something was off about this room. Could it be that he didn't except to see pink painted walls with small butterflies and flowers on it? When he subsequently noticed a short bed with several dolls laid on a pillow, a small armchair with pictures of Disney princesses, a large plush tiger on the floor and two book-shelves with children literature he finally understood.

This was without a doubt a little girl's room.

He felt his knees began to shake.

"Daniel ... what is this?"

The doctor laid Voldemort on a wide air-bed which was already made in the middle of the room, covered him with blankets and straightened his sore back.

"Oh, this is Annie's room. Annie's my daughter, but surely I mentioned her before..."

When the doctor saw how Harry shook his head disbelievingly, he briefly furrowed his eyebrows.

"I haven't? My, my ... what a faux pas! But don't worry, Harry. She won't be sleeping here but with Alice, my wife, in our bedroom. I will use a sofa in the living room," he said kindly and looked around. "I'm glad Alice already prepared the bed for you. I called her before we left the hospital that you're coming," he waved his hand toward the Dark Lord.

"Daniel," Harry whispered, feeling like fainting any moment. "You ... you're ... married? You have a ... daughter?"

"Yeah, you'll meet them soon enough. My wife went to pick up Annie from the school. Harry ... are you all right? You look so pale again."

He stepped closer to Harry who tried to remember how to breathe.

"You should lie down," the doctor said in a low voice and placed his palm at Harry's forehead. "Seriously. You need some time to recover."

"By the way, you have a very interesting scar on your forehead. Its shape reminds me of a lightning bolt."

"Really?" Harry said blankly, staring at the Dark Lord who slowly rolled over. He closed his eyes to calm down a little. He didn't count with this. He thought he would convince Voldemort to spare the doctor as he was the person who actually saved him. He hoped they would make it through the night without some dreadful _accidents_. But not this. He couldn't imagine introducing this mass murderer to Daniel's unsuspecting family.

He gulped hard and tried to take a deep breath. There was no way back, anyway. He had no choice but to deal with this situation the best he could.

"Sir? Can you hear me?"

Harry's eyes flew open just in the moment when the doctor bend over Voldemort who was very close to finally regain full consciousness.

"Don't you dare to touch me ... Negura..."

It was disturbing to hear Voldemort's high, clear voice again after so many hours.

Harry snapped.

"No, no, no! Daniel, don't!" he grasped the older man's arm and pulled him away.

"Harry...?" the doctor began but the young wizard butted in.

"No, Daniel, listen to me. I need some time to be alone with him. It's very important, trust me! I'm not sure how he would react if he awoke and saw someone he doesn't know. Besides you're a doctor and I told you how much he dislikes them. It's nothing personal, really. Just leave us alone for a while and let me explain him the situation. Please..."

It occurred to Harry that he truly had to look desperate, because Daniel only nodded once, patted his shoulder and without another word left the room. Harry felt a huge relief surging through him and he slowly sagged to the floor.

"Uff ... that was close," he breathed out deeply and opened his eyes to meet an intense crimson stare.

'Potter.' Voldemort's mouth moved soundlessly.

_**R&R**_


	24. The truth which should not be revealed

**Author's note: **I finally decided to disclose one important part of this story. In this chapter you will learn about what happened to Lucius in the past and about his first encounter with Negura. Moreover, you will find out how Harry and Voldemort are doing in Crowborough. I hope you'll enjoy it. If you do, don't hesitate and let me know! Thank you! And as usual I'd like to send special thanks to all my dear reviewers!

Also, I'm quite sure I won't finish the next chapter until Christmas so I'm going to use this opportunity to wish you all Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

**WARNING! **There is some swearing in this chapter. You've been warned.

**The truth which should not be revealed**

_Crowborough, Southern England_

_22__nd__ December 2000, 15:10_

Harry quickly, instinctively retreated and he wouldn't have stopped if his back didn't collide with the wall behind him. His heart started to do weird things, it jumped to his neck and he was seriously afraid he might choke on it if he opened his mouth.

The dark wizard's gaze was scorching.

Harry was positive that if he was subdued to it just a little longer, his skin would ignite under his clothes. Fortunately, before he could burst into flames, Voldemort broke the tension and slowly moved. He began to grope the blanket and slipped his hand beneath the pillow. Later, his fingers appeared on the other side, carefully tracing a hem of the carpet along the air-bed.

"It's not there," Harry whispered quietly.

The hand stopped short.

"It's useless to search for your wand. It's not here," he said a little louder.

Voldemort must have already realized this because his previously blank face substantially darkened. Harry watched how his cat-like eyes briskly scanned the pink room and with a distinct disgust slid back to glare at him. Why the youngster felt a sudden, ludicrous need to comb his messy hair, he had no idea. It could easily be his chest monster's fault. Since it had awoken back in the cave, it kept on messing with his feelings. Harry already fought it many times over without much success but he was still willing to give it a new try. As a first step he gulped hard to get his heart back down, but the mad creature in his thorax somehow managed to fill the whole space.

The Dark Lord gradually grew tired of Harry's dull stare and stopped paying him attention. He muttered something soundlessly again and looked down to briefly examine his own body. Harry watched him flex his long fingers on the right hand and turn to gaze at the other which was coated with white plaster just like Harry's leg. Voldemort's teeth slowly bared in a manner which the young wizard learned to recognize as the deepest aggravation. Enraged, he scratched his short, freshly cut nails along the hard material and dug them into a grey sleeve of his hospital attire which was rolled up above his elbow. Wearing muggle clothes only seemed to add to his fury. Certainly, if he was alone and not in the presence of his enemy he would rather tore it apart and sat there stark naked.

"What is this, Potter?"

Voldemort cold, acid sputter sliced through the air and his eyes bore once again into his companion as if he expected him to hold every answer of the universe.

Harry still didn't really understand why he was so nervous with Riddle around. He couldn't recall having this problem back in the cave. Could it be that this was the first time since the Battle of Hogwarts when he was facing the Dark Lord without being either completely intoxicated or half-blind? Distracted, he rubbed the bridge of his nose and glanced around the children room and then back at Voldemort, whose presence seemed so surreal.

He coughed to relax his constricted throat and wondered how to begin the explanation. It shouldn't surprise him that the Dark Lord took his hesitation as unwillingness to reply.

"You'd better not make me ask twice, brat!" the older man seethed, his thin, colorless lips trembling slightly.

It was very much like Voldemort to mask his confusion and fear with anger, Harry thought and his stiff face finally relaxed and formed a wry smile.

"I see you remember me, Tom," he said quietly and with gratification noticed his renewed composure. "No permanent brain damage, Mr. Rodgers will be pleased."

Harry had to hold back a grin when he saw the Dark Lord inwardly browse his database of Aurors to remember that mysterious guy who will probably come here to torture him and kill him. As he failed to recollect anyone with that name he turned to glower at Harry again. The corners of youngster's mouth quirked upward again as Riddle tensed in apprehension. He had to admit it was quite a fun to let Voldemort stew in his own juice for a moment. On the other hand he also felt inexplicably bad about this, which he couldn't or possibly didn't want to comprehend.

"I don't think that Mr. Rodgers wants to kill you, Tom," he spoke quickly to distract himself from thinking. "Why would he do that when he went to trouble to save your life?"

This was positively one of the moments Harry treasured. He managed to surprise Voldemort. It was thrilling to see that pale chin slacken in disbelief.

"What do you mean, Potter?"

Unfortunately, the Dark Lord's voice didn't betray his surprise.

Disappointed, Harry took a deep breath, but paused as he heard a strange sound coming from downstairs. Daniel most likely switched on a radio which begun to play some sweet Christmas song, he realized immediately and slowly gritted his teeth. Why couldn't the doctor wait a little longer? He couldn't blame him, though. It was his own fault that he hesitated to reveal Voldemort the truth.

"Who's down there?" Riddle asked cuttingly and Harry knew straight away that it was too late to set things right. As the Dark Lord managed to get on all fours to crawl towards the door Harry assaulted him.

The battle was over sooner before they could really start to fight as the young wizard managed to get his opponent on the floor and clamp his hands at Voldemort's mouth.

"Be quiet, Riddle, and listen!" Harry barked lowly and pressed the Dark Lord further into the ground.

"I won't let you hurt Mr. Rodgers or anyone of his family. Never! Only over my dead body, is that clear?-! With your bastard's approach you may not be aware of it or don't care about it, but let me tell you, he's the one who saved us both and offered us a place to stay and I won't allow anything bad happen to him. So, if you can't stand being at his house then get out of here and never come back!"

Voldemort didn't move or say a word, only his glare reached a new level of intensity. It was then when Harry realized that he could hardly do anything else with his fragile body pinned down and his mouth held tight. Slightly embarrassed he let go of the agitated Dark Lord and wiped his hands into his white coat. He did it merely from a habit as he no longer felt that overwhelming disgust when touching Riddle's cold skin. He had to form some sort of immunity, or something.

Silently, he awaited a counterattack. It had to come any moment now. He judged it from the way Voldemort's mouth tightened.

"We can fight again," Harry whispered, "As we did all the time in the cave. The question is if that's what you want because I don't. I want to know the truth. I need to know what happened but all answers are back in London. Daniel promised to take me there tomorrow. However, if we fight now he will certainly call the police and the Aurors or whoever let us rot in that cave will come as well and you know what's going to happen then. So if you want to die, bastard, attack me now."

Muscles of Riddle's strained face momentarily twitched before they slightly relaxed. He also desisted from the endeavor to reach the exit. Harry took it as a good sign and multiplied his persuasion.

"Fine, listen. If you manage to pretend for the next fifteen hours that you don't want to kill me and everyone else around you, we can both survive this. Hell, if you want I'm sure Daniel will take you to London along with me. All you have to do is try to act civilized once."

"Have you just implied that I'm uncivilized, Potter?" Voldemort whispered, venom dripping off his deadly quiet voice. Harry, however, wasn't easily intimidated.

"You are, Riddle. Being a mass murderer isn't a fair way of showing good manners."

"How dare you-!"

"Oh, not that again! Just quit arguing with me and tell me your decision!"

After a short staring contest Voldemort surprisingly looked away. He tried to sit up and Harry noticed how weak he still was and how uncoordinated his movements seemed to be. For the briefest moment he really wanted to offer him a helping hand, which made him mentally cringe at the thought. When the Dark Lord finally succeeded Harry moved away a little, sitting across from him.

"I assume," Voldemort began with a certain abomination, "that your new minion, Mr. Rodgers, is a muggle."

Harry bit his lip to hold back a retort and nodded shortly.

"It makes me wonder how he found us," he continued bemusedly and his flaring gaze studied decorations on the furniture. "I used certain spells to repel any muggle who might have an intention to interfere."

"Um ... we weren't exactly in the quarry when he found us," Harry elucidated hesitantly, which only instigated the Dark Lord's curiosity.

"Oh really, Harry? Where were we then?"

No way in hell Harry would mention to the bastard that he carried him. He also decided it would be better not to speak about the hospital and the car accident yet.

"It's not important," he retorted, finding a picture of a sunflower on the wall very interesting to watch at the moment.

When cool fingers seized his chin he recoiled.

"Face it; I'm not your bootlicker to give you reports, Riddle."

"You enjoy playing with fire a lot, don't you, Harry?" Voldemort whispered maliciously and tapped his shortened claws against glossy floor.

"You're in no position to threaten me, Voldemort. I suggest you to skip your hobby of being insufferable!"

"Potter-"

"Look, I understand that you're curious." Harry finally looked at him again. "We're in Crowborough at present, which - as Daniel told me before - isn't further than two hours from London by car. Honestly, I don't think there's any other wizard in this small town besides us, so stop freaking out."

The Dark Lord took in a long breath and after some pause quietly sighed.

"So we are in your minion's house..."

"He's not my minion!" Harry yelped offended, obtaining a detached look from the Dark Lord.

"I guess that this tawdry room usually occupies to some member of his filthy family, a daughter perhaps?" he whispered even more coldly. "I wonder why he let us stay in."

Harry forced himself to remain quiet. Otherwise he would have to snap at him for calling Daniel's dearest names.

"Honestly, I don't see a reason to believe that muggle, Potter," Voldemort made a sudden conclusion, impassive and distant, ignoring shock displayed on Harry's face. "His behavior is very suspicious. Besides..."

"You haven't even met him, you-!" Harry barked.

"Do not interrupt me, Potter! You are nothing but inconsiderate, thick-headed brat. You don't even bother to force some thoughts into your empty skull. Obviously, you don't find it strange when some muggle filth takes you into his house for absolutely no reason. You may be a total dolt but I know he's up to something."

Harry's ears began to burn as his blood pressure immediately reached the maximum.

"You ... you ... you ... BASTARD! Have you not heard what I said before! He _fucking_ saved your life!"

It wasn't too surprising that Riddle grew agitated right away.

"Don't speak nonsense, Potter! I, the great Lord Voldemort, saved by a muggle scum?-! That's preposterous! Admit that this is just a pathetic attempt of yours to make me spare your new lousy friend!"

"YOU SON OF A BI-!"

The door quietly creaked and Daniel's head appeared in between.

"I've heard an argument so I thought that maybe I should ask if everything's all right." His warm, brown eyes glanced from Harry to meet the Dark Lord's and he smiled openly. "Oh, Mr. Moore, I'm so glad to see you awake. I'm Daniel Rodgers, but I believe that Harry already introduced me."

Harry was certain he died in that moment. He had absolutely no idea how he managed to survive it; especially when he noticed that his basic life functions seemed to cease completely. Curiously enough Voldemort looked as if suffering the same symptoms. The sudden, startling silence made the doctor somewhat anxious.

"Eh, I guess you don't want to be disturbed. I only thought that Walter must be dreadfully hungry since he hasn't eaten anything for days. I prepared some soup for him and for you Harry too. Actually, I only warmed it up since Alice's the one who made it; she's a great cook, really."

The stillness, if possible, multiplied.

"She and Annie are already on the way home. I'll tell you when they arrive." He quickly sidled in, placed a large tray with two steaming bowls on a small table beside his daughters' bed and without another word briskly left the room.

Voldemort's head was the first thing which moved, though its speed wasn't faster than a slow-motion movie.

Harry could only gulp idly when he finally met the murderous glare.

"Walter Moore?" Voldemort asked with the most chilling voice he was able to produce. "Potter ... seriously ... you are _dead_."

For once Harry forgot how to speak.

*****

_London, the Ministry of Magic_

_22__nd__ December 2000, 15:10_

Draco stood quietly in a darkened room, his body slightly slanted against a window frame and his head rested on a cool glass as he stared down at a well known silhouette of the golden fountain dominating the center of a small, empty square. It was snowing outside. Though he knew that every single flake was a false one, a mere illusion, it didn't stop him from feeling dreadfully cold. Suppressing a violent shudder he turned away from the scenery to face the person who just entered.

"Father," he spoke wearily once he recognized the pale face. The older man quietly closed the door and strode over a palatial reception hall to meet his son. Draco turned back, pretending to look outside once again, but deep inside he paid no attention to what he saw. Somehow, he no longer wished to hear what his father came to tell him and wondered how to avoid it.

"I was correct when I thought I find you here." Lucius said in a carefully neutral voice. "You look tired, my son. Bad sleep?"

That unnecessary concern wasn't something Draco was waiting for. He didn't bother to turn around as he replied.

"Like I would ever close my eyes when _they _are around."

As the older man said nothing to that, they spent some time in heavy silence. The only sound which could be heard was a silent ticking of old mahogany wall clock.

"My grandfather would be disappointed with you," Draco said all of sudden and glanced over his shoulder. "That you sold your own son to a vampire," he added bitterly.

He noticed the growing tension in his father's composure and quickly looked back at snow covered square. What he didn't expect was a calm, nearly cold response he received.

"Indeed, Abraxas was very disappointed with me, however for a different reason than you think. He never missed the opportunity to tell me."

Draco's eyes widened a little. As he recalled, his grandfather was a reserved old man, who didn't talk much, with the exception of praising the elite status and influence Malfoy family had on the wizarding world. He barely talked about private things with other family members. Draco had never noticed any dissent going on between his father and grandfather.

Lucius didn't look bothered though. He flicked his wand and conjured an elegant squashy armchair. He sat down and smoothed folds on his new, perfect cloak.

"Your grandfather forbade me to become a Death Eater. I disobeyed him as there was nothing I wanted to be more."

Draco turned on a heel, watching the other man disbelievingly. Gone was his effort to avoid the answers. Now he wanted to know more. It took some time before his mouth formed some words, but once succeeded, he spoke quite fluently.

"I remember my grandfather as a great wizard who had never opposed the aims of the Dark Lord. He completely agreed with our Master's desire of mudbloods and muggles subjugation. He was very well aware of the threat they represent to our society. Then why ... why would he...?"

Lucius looked at some imperceptible dirt behind his fingernails, refusing to meet his son's eyes.

"It's simple, Draco. Abraxas thought that I'm going to die in the Dark Lord's service. He didn't want to be the last one of our noble family tree, knowing that with his death everything will be lost forever. That's also why I never wanted you to join the Death Eaters. I personally asked _him_ not to recruit you and _he_ agreed. However, as a punishment for my failures, _he_ decided otherwise. But this is not what I wanted to talk about at the moment."

Draco grew more and more bitter. He could clearly recall how exultant he felt when the pain finally receded and he saw the Dark Mark in his skin for the first time. He though he was chosen to step out of the shadow of his noble ancestors and reach their greatness. It never occurred to him, that his selection could be nothing but his father's punishment. He had some doubts, of course, but he tried to prove the Dark Lord that he's worth to carry the Mark. Why, he couldn't understand now.

"I never wanted to 'sell you' - as you call it - to vampires." Lucius finally looked at him. "For some time I was very proud that Negura wished to become a godfather of my future son – you. I promised him to give you his name."

Draco's tall figure staggered and slumped down.

"Why...?" he asked breathlessly. "Besides, I'm not Dragomir..."

"No, you're not. The Dark Lord would never allow it. I could have given Negura a promise but it would be too foolish of me to keep it..." Lucius looked out at a quickly darkening artificial sky and drummed his fingers against the armrest.

"That, however, doesn't mean that I am not obliged to repay him my life debt." He paused, considering and after reaching some conclusion he spoke again. "He saved my life, Draco, when I was just a foolish little child, nine year old. I don't remember much, only that I had no wand but I already knew two spells, so I decided I was old enough to join the Dark Lord. I really didn't want to go to Hogwarts to spend such a long time in a presence of stinky mudbloods. I wanted to be home-taught, but my father refused as it would be a dishonor if I didn't attend Hogwarts and wasn't sorted among Slytherins. But I didn't really care about it, most of all I dreamed about being taught by the Dark Lord himself, reaching his magnificence. So I made a plan to follow Antal Rosier, who I incidentally heard boast about working for the Death Eaters. He was only sixteen, an underage wizard who lived nearby, so it wasn't too difficult for me to track him as he couldn't use magic outside the school. I recall it was Christmas time like now and I was watching him for over several days, trying not to lose him from my sight. He surely thought of me as of some annoying kid, paying me no attention. But I was so dedicated to reach my goal that I was willing to spend whole night before their house and only father's bewitched cloak protected me from freezing. In the end my patience was rewarded."

Draco didn't speak. He only glanced up for a one short moment and then he went back to staring at the ground.

"It was after the midnight when I saw him leave the house and so I followed him. I admit, it wasn't very bright of me but at that time I saw it as a perfect opportunity. I couldn't believe my luck when we finally reached the destination and four Death Eaters were waiting there. My joy was very short though. Rosier told them that he was being tracked and that they should kill his pursuer – which meant me."

"He didn't see you? He didn't know that it was you who followed him?" Draco couldn't hold back anymore and asked the question which burned his tongue. He found it very strange. His father never talked much about his past. Before, when he asked something, he was often told that he should learn his place and stop asking bothering questions. Maybe the current circumstances led Lucius to a certain revaluation.

"I think he knew, but he didn't care. This was typical behavior for Antal as well as his younger brother Evan."

Draco merely nodded, shivering a little.

"Naturally, the Death Eaters didn't bother to ask me my name or anything. They found my hiding place right away and before I could say a word they began to torture me. I know they would kill me if Negura didn't appear. He argued with them and then he fought them all at once and won. He saved me and so I promised him whatever he wanted in return. When he didn't ask anything particular I said I'll name my son after him. Negura agreed under the condition that he'll become his - your - godfather. And that's basically all."

The older Malfoy spoke faster then usual, his endeavor to get over it was apparent. Nonetheless, Draco wasn't satisfied with the answers.

"It doesn't make much sense to me," he said after a while. "What was Negura doing there? How could some Romanian vampire know where was a meeting of the Dark Lord's Death Eaters? And why in Salazar's name would he save you?"

Lucius slowly got up and adjusted his leather belt. He breathed out slowly and closed his eyes and for a moment he stood there unmoving and quiet.

"I wonder whether I should tell you. The Dark Lord strictly ordered me never to talk about it, but now... I think it doesn't matter anymore. We're both outcast."

Draco was torn in desire to ask his father to go on and beg him not to talk anymore.

"Negura was a Death Eater. He used to be very ... _very_ close to the Dark Lord. He was the first one to betray _him_. He did it in the worst possible way. He lied to _him_ from the very beginning and in the end he even attempted to kill _him_. He was the only Death Eater who ever tried such unthinkable crime. As far as I know he was the only one beside Potter who almost succeeded."

Draco staggered backward to find a balance. His face was a display of shock.

"But ... but the Dark Lord only chooses true wizards to carry his Mark. Why would he give it to a vampire, why would he trust to a bloodsucking monster ... I ... I don't understand it..."

Lucius glanced towards the window. It was already dark outside, so the only thing to be seen was his blurred reflection.

"As you surely noticed, Draco, Negura is also a wizard. I have no idea how is that possible, however he was able to mask his vampirism and fool the Dark Lord for long six months, so he must be very good. At that time when he saved my life, he was the Dark Lord's most favorite. He even took me to _him_ to heal me. That's what I remember the best - the first time I saw the Dark Lord. It was an incredible experience for me to be in their company for a moment ... I was so thrilled, so proud..."

"Oh, yes," a new voice cut in. "I remember that you couldn't wait to join us. But the Dark Lord told you that first you must finish your education. He also said he'll be honored if you'll be sorted into Slytherin House. I bet you did your best to excel at your school."

Both fair-haired men turned to the newcomer, who spoke again.

"Excuse me, gentlemen. I was on my way to visit the Minister and accidentally overheard a part your conversation." Dragomir Negura offered them another one of his false, polite smiles. He wore his standard black robes, but this time he let his cape on his shoulders, showing them his perfect face.

Draco felt a strong shiver running up his spine at the sight of those piercing blue eyes.

"You ... you're a Death Eater?" he stammered. Under any other occasion he would try to fight the weakness in his voice, but now he didn't even give it a thought.

He was facing the Dark Lord's assassin. The worst of all traitors. It was giving him chills.

"Unfortunately, I'm not anymore. But I used to be once, that's true," the vampire spoke kindly, sweetly, strolling towards them.

"No one can stop being a Death Eater ... it ... it's not ... possible. If you try to destroy _his_ Mark ... you ... you die." This time Draco almost cursed his voice for halting so often.

Negura laughed quietly.

"I admit it's a little difficult for mortals like you, but for me it was quite easy. Painful, yes, but easy." His smile widened as he bared his left forearm and showed Draco a long deep scar. It looked as if a piece of his flesh was cut or burnt out nearly to the bone.

Draco covered his mouth, fighting a gag reflex.

Negura skimmed his long fingers over the healed injury and his smile slowly disappeared. "It no longer works properly. Still, it stings a little when some of you touch it. But I can't call him anymore ... sometimes I almost regret removing it..."

"I wonder what would happen if you touched yours now," Dragomir whispered softly and his eyes moved to watch Lucius, who stepped closer to his son, wand in hand. "Do you think he would come?" he continued. "I'd like to see him again if he's still alive. Ah, at least show his Mark to me, I _really_ want to see it."

When neither of them moved, Negura looked slightly hurt. _What an actor,_ Draco thought and anxiously tugged at the hem of his robe. Secretly, he didn't want to show it to him, it was like baring himself completely, or revealing some nasty little secret.

Fortunately, his father made the move and rolled up his sleeve. The Dark Mark was there, darker than before and Draco could no longer hope that Voldemort won't return. The proof of his growing strength was clearly written in their arms. But the most disturbing was the Leader's next comment. After some time when he was done with his examination he chuckled quietly and said.

"Hmm ... this is absolutely perfect."

*****

_Crowborough, Southern England_

_22__nd__ December 2000, 15:28_

"Eh ... emm ... I ...eh ... you ... heh ... Hold on a moment!"

This was one of Harry's most inarticulate sentences he ever produced. Surely, he could speak more fluently even when he was completely drunk.

"You have ten seconds for your explanation, Potter."

"Look, I..."

"Nine."

"This ... this wasn't even my idea..."

"Seven."

"Listen, Voldemort, this is a just a misunderstanding! I..."

"Five."

"_Fuck_, if I told them that your name is Tom Riddle or Voldemort, I bet Aurors would be feasting on you dead body at the moment!"

"Them, Potter? Who do you mean by them?"

_At least he stopped that freaking __countdown,_ Harry thought and relaxed enough to breathe out slowly. He knew this will be difficult, but honestly, he didn't expect it to be _that_ difficult.

"People ... in the hospital," he said carefully, dreading Voldemort's reaction.

"_**Muggle hospital?-!**_" As Harry had foreseen it, the Dark Lord seethed. Opposite to the fact that most people turn red when they are mad, Voldemort's chalk skin seemed to lose more of its color. Soon he looked almost translucent. Harry saw no reason to deny that watching the fuming Dark Lord from a close range was pretty scary. Only his natural Gryffindor behavior helped him to keep his relatively calm posture.

"Yeah. They fixed your broken arm and some other minor things. I don't know who did it. Probably Daniel in person, he's a skilled physician." Certainly, it would be much closer to truth to say that they fixed some other _major_ things but there was a catch. Harry couldn't inform Voldemort that he was given transfusions in order to stay alive. What disaster would happen if he learned this when a mere mention of hospital stirred up such a reaction? Why the bastard has to be such a difficult person in the first place? Harry sighed and reached out to take the steaming bowl. His stomach was growling and he needed to calm down a little. That deliciously smelling meal looked like a good solution of both problems so he started to eat it slowly. He would definitely enjoy it more if Voldemort wasn't regarding him so closely.

"Look, I'm sorry if that name offends you," Harry finally said. Deep inside, he couldn't care less whether Voldemort was offended or not. He just wanted Riddle to stop losing his temper to minimize the risk for Daniel and his family. "Try to live with that for next few hours, okay?"

"Potter, if that muggle scum calls me Walter again, he dies that instant, is that clear?"

"Fine, I'll tell him not to call you anything but Mr. Moore."

"Potter-!"

"Stop it for Merlin's sake! Or Daniel will-!"

"Yes, the filth will call the police. I know it, but why do you care?"

Harry raised his head.

"Excuse me?"

"Imagine that Aurors would really arrive. The fact that _your colleagues_ didn't mind to let you die in that cave doesn't mean that they would directly kill you here – unlike me. So, why do you care so much if they come?"

"I don't," Harry said quickly and looked back at his bowl.

"Potter, you're a terrible liar."

"So what! I just want to learn the truth first. The rest is none of your business."

To Harry's surprise, Voldemort said nothing to that. He just kept on staring at him and few moments later he extended his unharmed arm.

"Give me your bowl, Potter," he ordered coldly.

Harry looked at him as if he just saw someone who went fully and irrevocably insane.

"What?" he uttered.

"Are you playing deaf, brat?" the Dark Lord hissed.

"Care to tell me why don't you take yours, bastard?" Harry sputtered, but Voldemort already grasped the one in Harry's hand. The younger wizard had to let it go to avoid burns as the hot soup splashed around.

"Are you mad?" he yelped, incredulous. The greater was his surprise when Voldemort simply bent down and began to eat.

"Merely cautious, Potter," he hissed quietly. "If your meal was poisoned, you'd be already dead."

"You're such a jerk," Harry hissed, rubbing his reddening skin. When the Dark Lord ignored him he seized the other bowl and before he could finish its content he heard a silent knock at the door.

Harry's heart, which somehow managed to sink back to his chest, once again sprinted into his throat.

"Come in," he choked out and shot a threatening glance at the Dark Lord who already finished his portion. Voldemort looked generally undisturbed, maybe slightly vexed. He said nothing.

As the door opened and Daniel appeared in between them Harry offered him a weak, unsure smile.

"Harry, Mr. Moore, Alice and Annie are here and they would like to see you, so if you don't mind, please, follow me to the ground floor ... oh, I see that you've already eaten Alice's beef soup I brought you. Tasty, isn't it? I'm sure she'll prepare something equally good, maybe even better for a dinner." Then with a growing concern he looked at Voldemort and spoke. "Mr. Moore, if you don't feel for it yet, you can, of course, stay here."

Harry inwardly tensed as he saw the Dark Lord fist the blanket he was sitting on. Secretly, he was praying for Voldemort to refuse meeting Daniel's family, but the Dark Lord was always very unpredictable. He got up and looked at Harry as if waiting for him to follow his lead. Harry sighed. He knew that whatever is going to happen, he must stay calm. He got up as well (though he had some problems because of his immobile leg) and nodded.

"Thank you Daniel, it will be our pleasure. By the way, tell your wife that the soup was really delicious." Voldemort immediately shot him a glare saying 'speak for yourself' but Harry ostentatiously ignored it.

As they walked down the stairs Harry tried to think of every possible alternative which might happen next. Most of them involved Voldemort turning in a beast he was and destroying whole this place to its foundations. He desperately wondered about how he would stop him and it nearly made his brain bleed. All too soon they reached the main floor and Daniel called for his beloved. Harry froze as a small, cute, enthusiastic girl bounced out of the other room, her long brown hair neatly knotted in two French braids flailing around her head.

"Dad!" she smiled and hugged him.

"Annie," he replied and stroked her hair. "This is Harry and Mr. Moore. As I told you they'll stay here with us for tonight. Go and say them hello."

She quickly nodded and ran towards Harry who still hadn't thawed.

"Hello Harry," she said politely and even bowed a little.

"Hi Annie," the young man forced out of his stiff lips.

"Hello..." As Annie looked at Voldemort her mouth got stuck in the opened position and her eyes grew wide. Being subdued to the Dark Lord's glare can do weird things to human's psyche and Harry was glad to see that at least someone was able to react normally. Her scream nearly ruptured his eardrums and he instinctively tried to cover his ears but before he could she was gone.

"Annie!" Mr. Rodgers called after his daughter. As Harry expected she didn't return, but he could hardly blame her.

"I'm sorry, sometimes she's a bit oversensitive," Daniel tried to explain apologetically.

"No need to worry. I bet he's used to it," Harry snorted, avoiding looking at Voldemort as much as he could. He briefly wondered why the Dark Lord refuses to talk to them. Maybe he didn't find them worth his attention, bastard.

"Oh ... well then, please follow me to the dinning room," the doctor said and led them to the adjoining room.

Once they entered Harry looked around a rather large, decently painted room adjacent to the kitchen. With a sophisticated cherry finish and brown leather dining chairs, the whole dining set looked warm and comfortable. There was a solid birch wood table in the middle, which put a spotlight on the set of porcelain on it. The stylish dining collection was accompanied with a matching buffet and China cabinet to complete the look the elegant dining room. Harry felt the tension slowly leaving his shoulders at feeling of Christmas atmosphere which emanated from the candles on the table, from the branches of pine-tree adorned with glittering golden decorations and from a sweet smell of confection coming from the kitchen.

"Good afternoon," said a kind woman voice.

"I'm sorry you had to wait for me, but I had to take care of Annie for a moment. She was a little scared."

Harry turned to look at the woman who was coming towards them. She could be about 35-year-old which was close to Daniel's age, maybe few years younger. She was small and looked almost frail, but her light blue eyes shined with loads of energy. When approached them, she put the long strands of mahogany hair behind her ear and offered Harry a welcoming hand.

"I'm Alice Rodgers. You must be Harry, right? I'm so happy to finally meet you. I don't know if my husband thanked you properly for everything you did for us but if he didn't, please, let me do it instead." She hugged him, which left Harry agape. "We're so obliged to you that you decided not to testify against him. You saved our family a huge misery. You know, Daniel might even go to prison..." Her voice was strained as she tried to control her emotions.

"It... it's okay, Mrs. Rodgers," Harry stammered.

"Please, call me Alice."

"Okay ... Alice."

She nodded and smiled and turned at Voldemort.

"And you must be Harry's friend, Mr. Moore, right? It must be amazing to have a great friend like him, isn't it? Daniel described me in detail how bravely Harry saved your life."

Harry ran short of his breath. It would be funny to watch a diametric change in Riddle's sour face if he wasn't shocked to the same degree as his enemy. Finally, after an endless moment he stammered.

"No ... NO! Alice ... eh ... listen, it's not like that..."

"Oh, Harry, you're such a modest lad. You really don't have to be. I bet Mr. Moore is thrilled to know that you risked your life for him. It shows how much he means to you."

Harry would not be more paralyzed if she hit him with a pan over his head. From the depths of his lungs he choked out.

"But ... but ... but that's not true!"

Alice smiled kindly, maybe a little confused.

"Harry, Daniel told me everything. I know that you were carrying your friend all the way from the river to the road to Crawley. I also know that you threw him to a snowdrift to protect him from injury while you alone took the impact. It's your leg which was broken during the accident, not his. As I said, you're a way too modest."

Harry started to suffocate. He stared at Alice, seeing her wide, warm smile in a mist and he turned to look at Mr. Rodgers, who stood by his side, patting him on his back. Harry's mouth moved. He breathlessly tried to explain that huge misunderstanding, but could not produce any sound. His vision narrowed and the room started to spin around him. He tried to find some steady point, which coincidentally happened to be Voldemort's face. Harry could promise that he had never seen similar expression on that usually blank, cruel face. But this - this mix of shock, disbelief, amazement, confusion and general consternation which seemed to grow in intensity the longer they stared at each other was too much for Harry's overstressed brain. His knees could no longer carry his weight. The blackness fell over him and he sank to the floor.

_**R&R**_


	25. The secret of Vauxhall Road

**The secret of Vauxhall Road**

**Author's note: **It was really, really difficult for me to come up with a name for this chapter, because several important things will be revealed here. So I decided to pick out the one which I – after a long consideration - found the most acceptable. As usual, I also have a message for my reviewers: I love you guys! Thanks for amazing reviews. I hope you'll find this chapter as entertaining and interesting as the previous one.

*****

_Crowborough, Southern England_

_22__nd__ December 2000, 17:40_

"Harry ... Harry, wake up..."

Harry Potter, the twenty-year-old wizard with possibly the craziest and hardest life experiences of all people in his age, softly groaned.

"Harry..."

Someone was patting his face. At first he didn't care, but as the burning feeling of his left cheek multiplied, it quickly began to annoy him.

"Huh ... Ron, stop it, I'm awake," he muttered, his eyes still closed.

"Harry?"

And he was awake – or at least awake enough to realize that this voice didn't belong to his best friend. He looked up instantly and met a pair of kind brown eyes. The man above him smiled and sat back in a chair.

"Feeling better after your nap?"

Harry hurriedly rubbed his burning eyes beneath his glasses and tried to remember what happened.

"Daniel..." he began and looked around. "What ... what am I doing on a sofa?"

The doctor sighed, gazing at the raven-haired youngster reproachfully.

"You fainted, Harry. When I think about it now, it should not have surprise me that much. From the very beginning you were the worst kind of patient. Instead of taking a proper rest you'd wandered around the hospital and searched for your friend. And now this. Remember, you're still exhausted, don't overstrain yourself!"

"I ... fainted?" Harry stammered as his memories gradually returned to him.

"Yes, drink this. It should help you to regain energy."

Harry took a steaming cup from the doctor's large hands and sniffed the aroma of sweet chocolate.

"Thank you," he breathed of and sipped the hot beverage. He would relax immediately if there wasn't a strange nagging feeling in his head, urging him to ask something very important. It had to be about what Daniel said before.

"My ... my friend? You said my friend?" He sat up with a tremendous start and almost spilled the chocolate over himself.

Mr. Rodgers nodded, got up and seized a large package from a chair behind him.

"Yes, your friend. But no need to worry, Harry. Mr. Moore is upstairs. He didn't disappear anywhere." There was a tension in the doctor's voice when he said it and Harry could not overhear it.

"He's still here ... he didn't ... he didn't..." Unconsciously, his hand wandered upwards and squeezed his throat. "I don't understand it," he muttered, his stare dull and unfocused. "I really..." Harry's hands started to tremble, making the cup rattle in the saucer. The sound of it broke through his bewilderment. He shook his head, promptly finished the drink and tried to get up.

"I don't understand it," he repeated when his attempt to stand up failed and he heavily sank back to cushions. "What did he do ... what did he say ... after I ... fainted?" he asked haltingly, afraid to look the other man in the eyes.

"Nothing," Mr. Rodgers replied and shrugged his shoulders. "I wanted to start a conversation, but he only asked one thing. He wanted to know whether you really saved his life or not – and when I said yes he turned away and left. That's all."

"Oh Merlin!" Harry howled and palmed is face. "How could you say it, Daniel?-!"

The doctor looked at him doubtfully. "Honestly Harry, I'm confused. Why should I lie? What's the problem? Maybe if you explained what's going on, I would understand better. Because, I couldn't help but notice that Mr. Moore wasn't thrilled about it either."

Harry forced himself to take a deep, steady breath. He closed his eyes and rubbed small circles into his temples.

"No ... no, I'm sorry Daniel. Forget it, please. This is just one of our ... little private dissensions. We'll try to settle it, okay?"

Daniel nodded, immediately looking relieved. "Perfect," he said and handed Harry the bulky package he held under his arm. "Here are your clothes. It's washed and dried, Alice also tried to repair it but some garments were torn to pieces. I'm sorry if something's missing."

"Thank you, Daniel," Harry whispered and with a doctor's help he finally rose to his feet.

"By the way, where's your wife and daughter?" he asked as he was led towards the stairs. He tried the best not to sound fearful for them. Fortunately, Daniel didn't notice.

"They were in the living room when I saw them last. I guess they are preparing decorations for Christmas tree. I also think that Alice is writing down a list of items which I'm supposed to buy tomorrow. I bet she's happy that I took a day off and promised to take you to London. Otherwise she would have to go there by herself."

"At least someone's happy," Harry murmured.

"Sorry?" Daniel asked, but Harry just waved his hand. "Ah, nothing. If you excuse me now I have something to discuss with eh ... _Walter_."

"Sure," the other man smiled and turned away. "The dinner is at seven, okay?"

"Yeah..." Harry watched him leave and then he mustered the courage to climb the stairs and face the unavoidable.

He halted right before the door to Annie's room and took a deep breath. As he stood there it occurred to him that he had absolutely no idea what he was going to say once he entered. At least one thing he knew for certain. He'd rather have a month of detentions with Snape than spending one minute in Riddle's presence, especially after recent events. After several excruciating seconds he forced himself to seize the door knob and turn it. The door opened with a soft click and revealed the darkness inside.

Harry had to gather the rest of his resolve to step inside. It couldn't go unnoticed by him that he wasn't in the same small silly pink bedroom which Daniel showed him hours ago. It felt cold and different and it made him uneasy.

"Voldemort?" he asked quietly, desperately wishing for his eyesight to accommodate to the lack of light. He didn't close the door in case he would need to back off quickly; still the light coming from the hall provided only minimal illumination.

Instinctively, he reached for a light switch.

Just as his fingers swept over the white box he heard a well-known cold voice.

"Don't touch it, Potter."

That was a very effective way to freeze him.

"Or shall I say, _my_ _friend_?"

Harry didn't breathe, he didn't move, he only desperately searched for the source of that voice. Finally, he found it. Two gleaming red eyes closely observing him from a dark corner. His knees immediately turned to jelly and he felt strong shivers running up and down his spine.

"Tell me, _Harry_, do you feel better now, when the truth is out?" Voldemort said softly, quietly with a slight mocking undertone. He moved and stopped by the window, where Harry distinguished a shape of his tall, gaunt figure.

The younger wizard forced himself to break his congealment and said.

"Look, I came here to explain that stupid misunderstanding. Don't listen to Daniel and his wife; they both have a very biased opinion about what had happened."

The short silence was broken by the Dark Lord again.

"I'm quite certain that those filthy muggles told the truth. Rodgers did only his job when he helped me – unlike you, Potter. You voluntarily carried your mortal enemy for over two miles. Care to explain that?"

_Damn, damn, damn,_ was all Harry could think at the moment.

"I ... I don't know why I did it, okay? I was exhausted; I couldn't think normally, I was only listening to my instincts and ... and..."

Voldemort quickly, fluently stepped closer. Unconsciously, Harry retreated.

"So, your instincts told you to save me."

He could see him better now, the shape of his flattened serpentine face and his pallor gleaming through the semidarkness. "Your hero complex is affecting you more then I thought. When you have no one around to protect, you don't mind helping your enemies."

"That's not truth!" Harry sputtered. Voldemort curiously tilted his head to one side.

"Isn't it?" he whispered.

"Just ... just don't make me regret it," Harry retorted, running short of arguments.

"If I killed you right now, you wouldn't have time to regret it, would you?" the other man said slyly, making Harry grit his teeth. The anger rose in him again.

"Too late, you missed your chance! I'm awake and don't intend to make my death easy for you."

To his surprise the Dark Lord ceased advancing on him and resumed his post by the window.

"Oh yes, I missed a chance indeed, but you missed greater one, didn't you?"

Harry looked at the floor, desperately thinking about what to say, but no ideas were coming. The silence prolonged and it seemed that none of them could break it. In the end it was the Dark Lord who spoke again.

"Potter, this is a serious matter. You _act _very strange. Do you realize that what you did would be considered as the worst kind of treachery among the members of your beloved Order?"

Harry never looked at it from this point of view. It was quite scary to realize that Voldemort was absolutely right.

"Moreover, I've never expected you to act against the prophecy. Aren't you supposed to defeat me, boy?"

Harry slowly, uncertainly moved toward the center of the room.

"I don't care about the prophecy. It's your obsession, not mine." He noticed that the Dark Lord looked at him again, but didn't speak.

"And I saved you because I felt I owe you that. And I couldn't live with a thought of having any obligation towards you. This is the truth. Deal with it the best you can."

Voldemort kept his gaze longer than the youngster found pleasant. Only when he started to visibly fidget Riddle looked away.

"This is so absurd," he said, his voice low, but still very clear. "All of this is absurd. The cave, the hospital, this ridiculous house and most of all you."

He stared out of the window, his long fingers clutching and releasing a white curtain.

"You didn't owe me a thing, idiot. Only a moron like you would think something like that."

With Voldemort's growing perplexity Harry felt his own diminish. He made few courageous steps forward.

"Are you trying to tell me that you didn't deserve to be saved? Funny, I didn't expect this one coming from you."

"Potter, you-!"

"Forget it," Harry said and smirked at Riddle's gloomy face. "Oh, you see - I almost forgot that I brought you something!" He raised the big package and held it at a level of his eyes.

The Dark Lord's sour expression changed into suspicious one.

"I think you'll like it unless you became fond of your current clothes."

"Brat," Voldemort barked but grasped the pack, tearing the soft paper to pieces. He had to be pleasantly surprised when his eyes glanced over his cleaned, repaired black robes. Meanwhile Harry rummaged through the heap of clothes and found his jeans and shirt. He was however disappointed that his pullover was missing. He didn't intend to use it again, particularly because Voldemort had a pleasure of wearing it, but it would be quite a fun to remind the bastard his promise. What a pity. He sighed and gathered his clothes instead. It was soft and smelled so nicely that he couldn't wait to have it on.

Briskly he began to undress himself.

It was just a couple of seconds later when he heard a stifled gasp echoing in the small room. He glanced back and saw Voldemort glaring at him with an evident disapproval in his eyes.

"What?" he bristled, scowling more than the Dark Lord.

"What do you think you're doing, Potter?" the older man hissed venomously.

Harry already wearing nothing but undies quickly retorted.

"Changing my clothes - obviously. What's your problem?"

"You are my problem, Potter. Go change somewhere else!"

"You mean you want me to run around this house in my briefs only because you've never seen another naked man before?"

"GET OUT!"

Harry snorted in resentment, grabbed his clothes and stumbled toward the exit. He stopped right there and turned at Riddle whose sanguine eyes persecuted him.

"Who's a moron here," he spat and slammed the door shut.

*****

_London_

_22__nd__ December 2000, 16:20_

It got warmer. The wind blew from southwest, bringing more humid air. When finally started to rain, the over-cooled ground formed a glazed frost over pavements and streets, causing car accidents and traffic jams practically at every corner.

In the older part of the city aside pre-Christmas buying craze of the main streets, an old purple triple-decker bus came to a sudden halt. One would expect that this unusual vehicle would raise attention, but none of few pedestrians who passed by took even a simple glance. They also ignored a small group of people who got off and hurried to the side as the bus drove away and with a loud bang disappeared.

"Let's go kids, hurry up," Molly Weasley whispered and with fearful expression hurried to the front, leading the group together with her husband towards the Grimmauld Place.

"Mom, we're not five year old," George rolled his eyes, but followed nevertheless.

"Gosh, how I hate traveling by a Knight Bus. It gives me bruises all over my body," Ron huffed from somewhere behind him, rubbing his sore waist. "Hermione, what do you think...?" He looked around, searching for his girlfriend.

"Hermione?" he asked again.

"She's here."

Shacklebolt, who seemed to be closing the short procession, cast some spell to protect them from rain and wind. Then he stepped aside and revealed the young witch, who had her nose buried in some paper again.

"Don't tell me that you're reading that letter again," Ron complained and she shot him a glare before she looked back at the sheet illuminated by the tip of her wand.

"You don't understand it," she sighed and her eyes skimmed over the lines again.

"Every time I read this I feel as if I'm missing something important. For a brief moment I have it within a grasp and then it slips again."

"Hermione, maybe this letter isn't as important as we think. For all we know we can't even confirm that the Leader is the one who wrote this nonsense. So..."

"Would you two stop discussing this topic while we're outside?" Percy bristled and looked around suspiciously. "Leave it until we are safely at home."

Hermione cast a glance in Percy's direction and then stabbed Ron with her fierce look.

"I don't see you coming with some better ideas," she spoke in much quieter voice than before. Then she turned to the previous Minister.

"Kingsley, if you don't mind I'd like to ask you if you ever heard anything of Vauxhall."

Shacklebolt looked at her briefly and his eyebrows furrowed from intense thinking.

"Vauxhall? No ... I'm not aware of hearing that name before. What should it be?"

Hermione shook her head.

"I'm not sure. I found it imprinted in this paper and I hoped that you could help me puzzle it out. Honestly, this is really strange. Why it is just me who find this name so painfully familiar?"

"Is that the Romanian letter you stole from the Leader's apartment?" Kingsley asked and before he obtained a positive reply he continued. "Hmm ... Vauxhall ... it doesn't sound much Romanian to me,"

"No, it doesn't..." Hermione mumbled quietly. Her forehead wrinkled as she thought about it over and over. "But the Leader could always write that letter here, not necessarily in Romania."

In the meantime they approached their well-protected base. Arthur pulled out his wand and tapped on the black, shabby door once. Something metallic clicked inside and a moment later the door opened wide and let them step inside.

Hermione wasn't paying attention to anything around her, not even to Ron who helped her out of her coat.

"Vauxhall, Vauxhall," she only repeated over and over as if she invented a very intriguing magical formula. That was enough for the ginger headed youngster to run out of his patience and lose his temper.

"Hermione, would you please stop saying that!" he sputtered. "Obviously it's not helping! It's not getting us anywhere! For all we know the Leader or whoever wrote that trash could easily tear that worthless piece of paper from whatever insignificant diary he found and you are just wasting your time because of its misinterpreted content!"

He took several deep breaths, surprised by a sudden silence. They often had lover quarrels, but never before Hermione stared at him like that. Then her eyes flooded with tears. She looked like she was going to break into tears and Ron already started to fabricate the complicated apologies when she jumped forward and hugged him fiercely.

"Ron," she sobbed. "Ron, I love you. You're a genius!"

"Wh ... what?" he coughed, trying to catch his breath. To his ultimate shock she kissed him loudly on cheek and hugged him again.

"This is it, Ron, this is it! It's _the diary_! I _knew _it all the time! I just couldn't sew the pieces together! Vauxhall Road, Ron! _Vauxhall Road was a store in London where Tom Riddle bought his diary_! How could I be _so stupid_?-!"

Everyone around watched the scene in an astounded silence. But Hermione didn't care; she turned on the spot and sprinted upward to Harry's bedroom with Ron upon her heels. He was too far from understanding what happened yet.

The young witch didn't wait for him; she hastily flung the door open and began to rummage in Harry's things.

"Her-Hermione, what are you doing?" Ron gasped and rubbed his aching side.

"It must be here, it must be somewhere here...," she talked to herself as she continued to disarray the room.

"Hermione!"

She looked at him and snapped her fingers.

"Right, a luggage."

She got on her knees and pulled out Harry's old school trunk from beneath the bed. With a flick of her wand she opened it and immediately noticed a black cover of a small, damaged book, which was half covered by the junk inside. She mindlessly pushed aside something what suspiciously reminded a piece of old, dried snake's skin and seized the book carefully.

"Look, here it is," she whispered with a hint of insecurity in her voice.

"Hermione, can you explain me what's going on?" Ron insisted as he knelt beside her.

"Yes, I think I finally can," she whispered and showed him the book with a nasty hole in the middle. "You know what it is?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "Of course. It's You-Know-Who's old diary. The one that Harry destroyed in the Chamber. I'm not that dim! What's wrong with it?"

"I'll show you," she whispered and opened the book. "Because if I'm correct, we are going to find out that one page in his diary is missing."

"What?-!" Ron yelped.

"Look at this," Hermione unfolded the letter and indeed, the size, the paper quality and also its color seemed to be equal. Ron felt his chin slack as he watched his girlfriend list through blackened, perforated pages.

Finally, on the very last sheet she halted.

"Just as I thought," she whispered and her shaking finger pointed at the book's binding. Without a doubt there used to be another page. Carefully, she took the letter from her lap and with her unsteady hand slowly brought it together.

It fitted perfectly.

"Oh Merlin," Ron moaned incredulously. "This is – this is not possible!"

"S ... Someone," Hermione stammered, quickly constructing a bold theory, "someone had to tear it out of this book _before_ Harry destroyed it. Someone, who wrote this text..."

Ron still shook his head, refusing to believe his eyes.

After short pause Hermione continued.

"This couldn't be done by just anyone... It had to be a powerful wizard to cause such damage to _his_ Horcrux. If it really was the Leader, then it completely changes the situation..."

Slowly she closed the book and looked at Ron.

"If the Leader ripped that page off Voldemort's Horcrux he could hardly be his ally. Maybe he has really nothing to do with Harry's disappearance. Maybe ... it's time to openly ask him whose side he's on."

*****

_London, the Ministry of Magic_

_22__nd__ December 2000, 15:40_

"Good afternoon, Dolores."

Dolores Jane Umbridge, the current Minister for Magic, almost jumped from her luxury seat. Her stubby fingers dug into the hard surface of the desk.

"Leader," she replied calmly once she composed herself. "I wasn't expecting you this late. To what do I owe the pleasure of your little _delayed_ visit?" she asked with a fake politeness. Lately she couldn't help but feel strange in his presence. Threatened was the best word to describe it, still she couldn't say why.

The tall, black-hooded man wordlessly took a seat on the other side of her table. Once comfortably seated, he spoke.

"My apologies, Minister. I'm terribly sorry for my late arrival, which was caused by an urgent compulsory service."

"Was it more urgent than a meeting with the Minster?" Dolores inquired and tapped her fingers against the wooden surface. She couldn't possibly see Negura smirk beneath his cape.

"Certainly not. My mistake, Minister," he replied softly and charmed her with his remorseful voice.

"I brought you a report," he said suddenly and leaned over the table to hand her a parchment, "but as I see I'm not the only one."

"No, you are not," she said sharply and pressed her palm to the pile documents before her.

"I have heard and read about very bad news concerning you, Leader. I'm curious how you will explain them," she continued, eyeing him suspiciously.

"Ah, what a sad coincidence! I'm also afraid that I can't cheer you up today," Negura responded, his voice still light but not enough to make her suspicious.

"Very well, speak first. What is it you came to tell me?" she asked directly and straightened her back to keep a superior pose.

The more stiff and reserved she grew the more relaxed and carefree the Leader seemed to be. He crossed his legs and leaned his head against the rest.

"We caught two Death Eaters today, Draco and Lucius Malfoy to be precise," he began. "I know this is not entirely bad, but the problem is that they refuse to tell us certain things, even under the Veritaserum. How unfortunate. We have a secret base of the Dark Lord within reach and still it slips through our fingers."

"And this is the worst message you wanted to report to me?" she asked strictly, her lips forming a thin line as she hold back her anger.

"It's not all...," Negura whispered, his pleasant tone slowly drifting away.

"I have something more interesting for you," she butted in, seized the pile of sheets from the table and handed them over. "Read," she ordered. Negura calmly took it and began to list through the reports.

"Hmm, really, you were right, Minister. This is much more interesting reading. So there are hundreds of vampires on the Ministry and I'm the one who's responsible for this?" he said, sounding slightly amused.

"Now, you really don't believe that, do you?" he asked kindly but the toad-like woman was too stubborn.

"Prove me otherwise now, or get ready to be transported to Azkaban vault."

Negura sighed and his face turned sour for a second. There was also a dangerous gleam in his eyes before he smiled politely and took her hand between his.

Umbridge gasped when she felt a warm tingling on the place where their skin touched. She looked at him wide-eyed as he slowly lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed the top of her ugly fingers.

"Tell me, Dolores, am I a vampire?"

"Ah ... eh ... of course no," she stammered, her lumpy face turning as pink as the ribbon under her thick neck. "But...," she began.

Negura stopped her as he slowly stood up and straightened his back.

"Naturally, I know about those _bloodsucking freaks_ at _your_ Ministry. If you let me finish my report I would explain everything," he said, his face blank and serious. "As I questioned Malfoys, I managed to obtain certain revelations. They told me that the Dark Lord is back and regained his previous powers. They also said that there is something here, in this very building, what he desires so much that he was willing to collaborate with vampires to obtain it." Negura turned his back to her, so she couldn't catch a single glance of his face, but she didn't even try as it was the last thing which bothered her at the moment.

_He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is back.__ How could he survive it?-! How could he get out?-! But now when it happened ... that also means that he will come for his Elder Wand! I am in a mortal peril!_ Dolores was a mere step from a hysterical fit, repeatedly clutching the cursed wand in her trembling hand.

"You don't need to worry, Dolores," Negura finally turned to face her again. "I know how to play these games. I will eventually turn the vampires against him and then get rid of them all. _He will lose._ Trust me, I'll deal with this. I will protect you and the Ministry."

Dolores, paler than ever before, slowly stumbled over to him.

"Thank you, Leader," she whispered weakly. "I ... I'm so sorry that I didn't believe you first. It was so stupid of me to distrust you after everything you've done for me." She hugged him and he didn't protest.

"Forgive me my precipitation. You surely know what to do. You're the best. Just ask whatever you need and if I can help it, it's yours."

Right after that she buried her face to his chest and missed her chance to see the most evil smile distorting Dragomir's handsome face.

*****

_Crowborough, Southern England_

_22__nd__ December 2000, 18:50_

Before Harry returned to Annie's room, he was quite satisfied. He managed to find a bathroom, where he took a long hot shower (only with Daniel approval of course) and even though it required some acrobatics not to wash his plaster, it was worth the effort. Now when he was freshly shaved and his unruly black hair finally dry, he missed only very few things to a full contentment. The first one was his jeans. It was just his bad luck that they didn't fit around the plaster. Fortunately, Daniel lent him a training suit for tonight. Tomorrow he'll have to deal with his favorite trousers by cutting their leg. Second were his new glasses. He still couldn't inure to their shape and number of diopters. He only began to realize how much he missed the old ones. The constant headache he felt reminded him times when his scar used to torment him so much. And the last but not the least of his problems was the Dark Lord. Harry knew very well that the rest of his good temper will be gone for good the moment he reentered Annie's bedroom – Voldemort's new kingdom.

But he had no choice. It was only ten minutes until the dinner and the great Lordship still didn't deign to come downstairs. Alice offered that she'll go and fetch him, but Harry quickly refused as he was the only one who knew that it wouldn't be a good idea.

So he climbed the stairs again and halted in front of the door like before. However, this time he felt only a fraction of previous anxiety. Deciding to be polite this time he knocked before stepping in.

"Voldemort?" he asked and peeped inside. "Dinner is will be served within few minutes so if you want to eat something then you should come along."

No response.

"Voldemort?" Harry tried again, moving further in and closing the door behind him. Once again he had to wait for his eyes to accommodate to the darkness.

"Potter."

Harry did his best not to let the latter know how startled he was for a fraction of second.

"Are you coming then?" he quickly asked.

Silence.

"Fine, sit here and sulk, that suits you the best."

"Bring me the dinner here," came oh so pleasant response.

Harry gritted his teeth in annoyance.

"Forget it, Riddle! If I recall, you're supposed to act like we're getting along! But from my point of view, you didn't even start to pretend. Don't you see how horribly unsociable it is from you to sit here and ignore your hosts? Even Mr. Rodgers began to notice that something's wrong with you."

Voldemort rose to his feet, his body casting a threatening shadow in a soft light coming through the window. Once he spoke the room temperature dropped a few degrees.

"I want to kill that muggle, Potter. I want to kill him, his wife, his child and on the top of that you. Tell me, boy, is something _wrong_ with me?"

Harry realized that no one else but Voldemort could bring him from absolute calmness to the state of utmost fury by a single sentence.

"You are SICK!" he spat and bit his lip to hold back a tirade of insults.

The older wizard paid him no attention. He slowly sat into a small armchair and stretching his long fingers. "Shut your loud mouth, Potter. Besides, I don't intend to do it. Killing you wouldn't help me to get out of here. It would be just a reckless wasting of my energy." His scorching gaze scrutinized the pictures of Disney princesses on the cover he was sitting on.

"If only being in this muggle den wasn't so _frustrating_," he hissed quietly. "I wish I could _apparate_ from here this instant. This is beyond humiliating..."

Harry had just enough of his haughty rant.

"Go on then! _Apparate_. But don't ask me to retrieve your splinched ass!" he snapped furiously and turned to leave and let the bastard rot alone with his evil thoughts.

"Potter?"

Harry didn't know what made him stop, but he did and now he glared at his enemy from a doorsill.

"What?" he barked.

"Before you bring me a dinner, I ... require your assistance." Except that shortest halt the Dark Lord's voice was so calm and elated, that if Harry were a Death Eater he would sank to his knees and crawl towards him on all fours.

Harry, however, wasn't his bootlicker, so he merely froze in shock on the spot.

"What?" he choked, agape.

The Dark Lord remained seated, unmoving, filling the space with a livid aura.

"You've heard me, brat. Come closer."

Harry slowly, cautiously approached him.

"Is this by any chance your way of asking for help?" he inquired from a safe distance. A single glance of furious blood red eyes was the only reply he received.

"Lovely," Harry whispered and stepped a little closer. "So, what do you need?" he sneered.

"Untie it without any stupid comments," the Dark Lord ordered and pointed at his back where Harry immediately noticed the source his troubles. Voldemort still wore hospital clothes which were now creased and lacerated from what had to be a violent attempt to remove them. Harry remembered having no problems to shed his own, but unlike Voldemort he could use both hands. He simply untied the first knot and pulled the garment over his head. The Dark Lord couldn't do this. His left arm was fixated in a plaster and untying those tight knots with only one hand was clearly past his abilities. How spent he had to be when his magic couldn't deal even with a trifle like this?

Harry smirked. Who would have thought that the same man who kicked him out for changing in the same room would ask this kind of a help?

He was more than tempted to leave Riddle like this.

"Potter," Voldemort spoke lowly, his voice even colder than usual. "If you ever mention this to anyone, I mean _anyone_, brat, I assure you that you'll meet the worst fate."

"Oh, don't worry," Harry chuckled, enjoying the Dark Lord's indignity, "even if I wanted to talk about this I really doubt I would find a person who would believe me."

Harry moved over to where the latter sat and placed his palms on the bony shoulders. He felt Riddle tense as if suffering an electrical shock.

"You don't usually turn your back on your enemies, do you?" the younger wizard inquired as he set to work.

"I said spare me your comments, Potter," Voldemort hissed, glancing over his shoulder to see what Harry was doing.

"Hmm," Harry mumbled and tried to undo an overly constricted node.

A moment later he finally succeeded and revealed a patch of milky white skin. He skimmed his finders over it just to make the other more nervous. When Riddle recoiled, he briskly began unlace the next one, which he managed to disentangle within a couple of seconds. He was dealing with the third when he noticed something strange on the man's back. He took a closer look at something what looked like an ornament inscribed into the snowy skin. It occurred to him that it could be the tattoo which Nurse Ross found so fascinating. Excited by this new discovery he sped up undressing his companion.

"That's enough, Potter," Voldemort ordered coldly, but Harry didn't listen. He pushed the fabric aside to admire that tattoo masterpiece which covered half of the Dark Lord's back.

He couldn't believe what he saw. He expected many things, but nothing like this.

Astonished, he surveyed a pair of gorgeous wings which lay before his eyes. Every single feather was beautifully portrayed to the most precise detail. It looked so real, so _angelic_, that Harry couldn't resist the need to feel a texture of it.

His fingers moved closer on their own accord.

"This is ... amazing," he muttered breathlessly, glancing between the tattoo and the profile of the Dark Lord's emotionless face.

Voldemort stayed silent. He waited. Harry waited too. His curiosity won in the end. Slowly, carefully he touched it and then caressed its outline with his fingertips. It was soft like a silk and unexpectedly warm. Harry began to feel a slight, pleasant tingling in his hand and also strange burning feeling in his chest. Surprised that he forgot to breathe he quickly sucked in the air.

The serpentine wizard watched him over his shoulder all the time, quiet and still. His rigid body couldn't possibly tense any more.

When he finally spoke, his voice didn't betray anything.

"I said that's enough."

The sound of his high, chilly voice snatched Harry from his enthrallment.

The younger man quickly stepped back, his cheeks slightly reddened from embarrassment. He couldn't believe what he had done. It was something unthinkable, scandalous, egregious... How could he ... how could he...? But still...

"Eh," he cleared the throat and rubbed his burning palms against his shirt. Voldemort looked away, calm and distant and for some reason Harry couldn't tear his eyes off him.

"I don't know what it is or for what purpose you have it on your back, but ... from where I stand you look almost like a fallen angel. And that's unbelievably accurate, isn't it?"

Except the slightest twitch of pallid lips the other man didn't move.

"Even fallen angels have a chance to redeem themselves. Never forget that. Dumbledore told me that you still can..."

The blood red eyes looked up at him, blank and hateful, and Harry immediately hushed up. He took two steps backward, anxious and also a little sad.

"Daniel and Alice are waiting," he muttered in a queasy voice. "So if you want your dinner, you have to come downstairs, because I won't bring you anything up here."

When that awkward silence continued, Harry decided that the only wise thing he could do was to leave the Dark Lord alone.

With a sigh and one last glance he backed off the room.

_**R&R**_


	26. The night visitor

**Author's note: **I'm late again, as usual. I'm really sorry for the wait. Please, consider this particularly long chapter as compensation. ;-)

I also didn't have much time to do some extensive re-reading, thus I must apologize for occasional grammar mistakes.

*****

**The night visitor**

_Crowborough, Southern England_

_22__nd__ December 2000, 19:12_

Harry was on the way downstairs when the reality of the situation heavily weighted on him. One of his first thought was that he was imagining things because something like that couldn't happen; the second was if it _did_ happen then he desperately needed a break, a pause or whatever would help him to regain sanity. He still couldn't comprehend what he had done. Touching the Riddle's back just like that, was he already crazy or something? He looked at his hands, regarding them as two perfidious traitors who found no better enjoyment than disobeying their master. Quickly, he rubbed his palms against the smooth texture of the borrowed trousers, hoping that the friction would help him to erase the memory of the other's skin. Unfortunately, it proved to be more persistent than the young man first thought. Their brief physical contact evoked something alive inside him, something what was affecting him deeper than he thought, giving him stupid and awkward ideas. Harry strictly refused to deal with it whatever it was. He did _not _like being with Riddle. He didn't like seeing him, talking to him and especially not touching him! The whole thing sounded preposterous! He didn't turn mad, not at all. And that's the end of it.

The young man nodded resolutely and wiped off these thoughts with something more encouraging. He was going to see his friends tomorrow and forget about this _faux pas_ once and for all.

As his mind got filled with this new resolve, he descended to the ground floor, passed an old looking ebony shelf with some African art, turned right and entered the dining room. He quickly noticed that Daniel's family already sat around the table, feasting in comfortable silence. A delicious smell of the meal served him as an instant reminder of his repressed hunger.

"Harry!" Alice Rodgers called out as she saw him and rose from the table. He could only stare at how strikingly attractive she looked in a fitting chestnut dress. _Damn hormones_, he cursed silently. Daniel may not be a wizard and couldn't read his mind, but that didn't make him feel much better.

"Finally you're here," Alice said reprovingly and Harry for the first time hesitated. The sight of them sitting peacefully together made him feel like an unwanted intruder.

"Sorry, I'm late... I didn't want to disturb you though ... I mean I can wait a little longer. I'll wait outside...," Harry began but before he could finish his babble, Daniel's vibrant voice cut him off.

"Annie! Where are you going?"

Harry noticed that the doctor's daughter left her seat and furtively tried to disappear.

"I don't want to see _him_ again," she pouted when she realized that her secret plan was revealed. "Is _he_ coming here?" she asked and her big brown eyes glanced upstairs and then at Harry. When she folded her petite arms over her small chest and pouted Harry almost laughed at her rebellious pose. She was really very cute.

Unlucky for her, Daniel wasn't overly susceptible to her loveliness.

"Annie, stop showing that cheeky attitude of yours! What will Harry think about your manners? Come back, take your seat and be quiet!"

Harry watched her reluctantly shuffle backward and felt for her in that moment.

"Daniel, Vold ... Walter _is_ scary, why should we deny it? Please, just ... don't be mad at her because she's afraid of him." _She's a very clever girl after all_, he thought inwardly.

Mr. Rodgers cast a short glance at him and then he turned to his daughter.

"He might look different. But it doesn't mean that we should treat him differently, right Annie?"

"Humph," she mumbled and sat back in her chair, prodding her food dispassionately.

Harry was so caught in the scene that he didn't notice Alice coming toward him until she carefully seized his forearm and led him towards the table.

"Come Harry," she said and smiled at him.

He followed her without any resistance and once they were all seated and Alice began to serve his meal, she asked in a slightly worried tone.

"So, what did Walter tell you?" She tried to make the question sound casual, but Harry noticed that she really cared.

"Uh," he muttered. "He said that he's feeling unwell, so he rather stayed up and took some rest."

"Shall I go and check on him whether he's all right?" Daniel asked and cut a small piece of his well done beef steak with tomato sauce.

Harry felt his mouth water at the sight of his own portion. He didn't wait for anything and anyone and began to eat. Merlin, it was so great that he even lowered himself to speak with full mouth.

"No ... don't worry."

His answers confirming Voldemort's absence made Annie clearly happy, because she enthusiastically stuffed her mouth with the delicious food. They spend several minutes in companionable silence which was only now and then interrupted by compliments of Alice's cooking skills.

However, moments of peace in Harry's life never last too long and this one was over when the door which Harry could partially see over his shoulder suddenly opened. Purely out of instinct he turned around and his whole body grew rigid at what he saw. A silver fork he held in his hand fell out and loudly chinked against the plate.

It really shouldn't startle him that much to see Voldemort there. The problem was that the Dark Lord standing at the door sill dressed in his usual black robes, bearing that haughty, indifferent look was always a way too discomfiting to stay calm. Riddle's extemporaneous appearance gave rise to a constrained silence. Annie and Harry were the first to wake up. She briskly slid down her chair to hide beneath the table, while Harry subconsciously began to grope his clothes, searching for his wand. Once he realized fruitlessness of this action, he stopped and idly rubbed his somewhat slacked chin.

He didn't know that the biggest surprise was yet to come until Voldemort spoke.

"I wonder whether I might join you," the Dark Lord said pleasantly and his stern mouth curled slightly upward to form a mechanic smile. Harry choked on his saliva. The knife he still managed to keep in his fist slipped out and fell beside the fork.

By the corner of his eye the young wizard noticed that Daniel finally woke from his amazement too.

"Oh ... of course. Take a seat, please," the doctor said quietly and pointed at the empty chair next to Harry, who watched in silence how Voldemort bent slightly forward to pass beneath the doorjamb, overcame the short distance and sat down beside him without a shortest glance in his direction.

"Thank you," Riddle said blankly, his alien face showing no emotion.

As Harry heard it, he inhaled a morsel which lay forgotten in his mouth and began to heave and suffocate. Daniel after seeing this quickly leaned over the table and repeatedly slammed his palm against the young man's back until he helped him to cough the bite out. When Harry finally took a deep breath he looked at the doctor gratefully and then he turned to glare at his new seat mate.

"Next time be more careful, Harry," Daniel said and looked at Voldemort as well. "I hope you feel better, Mr. Moore. Harry said that you were a bit indisposed a moment ago."

"Harry's concern is always immensely _touching_," the Dark Lord whispered venomously and his long pale fingers circled around the fork lying before him on the table, "...and quite unnecessary. I'm perfectly fine."

Harry gritted his teeth and grasped the setting as well. Was the bastard trying to provoke a fight? But the Dark Lord was simply waiting for Alice to cut his meal on small pieces, so he could eat the dinner up even with his handicap. He was also doing a great job in ostentatious ignoring of Harry's presence, which was something the young man decided to do about him and failed completely. Irritated, Harry looked away and noticed that Annie's chair was empty. It didn't surprise very much. If he could, he would disappear too.

Meanwhile Daniel started a conversation and to Harry's utter shock Voldemort responded. He replied with ease, keeping his manners perfect and his politeness flawless. Within five minutes he had both Daniel and Alice in his pocket. Harry was sick from watching how they stared at him in awe as he naturally chatted about every topic which was brought up. Now he was taking his time to describe one of current Prime Minister's bad eating habits which Daniel and Alice found exceptionally amusing. Harry on the other hand couldn't have fewer reasons to laugh. Voldemort's perfect knowledge of Minister's manners and worse, his schedule, was downright formidable. The bastard had to spy on him which meant he certainly considered attacking him!

Harry surreptitiously watched their conversation and secretly fumed while pretending to be fascinated with his steak. So this was the Dark Lord's famous charm, the reason why so many great wizards and witches joined him without any resistance. Oddly, he found himself unaffected by Riddle's charisma. On the contrary, the simplicity of this manipulation made him furious. The dark wizard said nothing really entertaining, yet Daniel and Alice nearly cried of laughter. How easily he put them under his influence! The cup of his patience was already filled to the brim and the last drop was Annie's horrified face, which peaked from underneath the table to see what their parents found so outstandingly hilarious. It was the moment when Harry swung his arms with all his might and slammed his fists against the table. Every piece of porcelain set, every glass, saucer, plate and bowl rattled on the surface from the impact. The spotlight and chandelier twinkled several times and their light slightly dimmed.

Harry slowly turned to Riddle, looking like a god of menace who decided to burn the Dark Lord with his most hateful glare.

"Stop. It. At. Once!" he strained through his gritted teeth.

It worked surprisingly well. The charm was broken; Alice and Daniel stopped laughing and stared at him as if he went bonkers.

The only one who retained his self-control was the reason of Harry's sudden outburst, Voldemort. He lay down the fork, cleaned his mouth in a paper napkin and finally turned to look at the enraged young man.

"Tell me boy, who acts uncivilized now?" he said pleasantly, but his searing eyes could cast daggers.

Harry maybe had never felt so tempted to punch that pale face before. How very satisfying would it be to make Riddle flip over that chair! His fingers curled out of instinct and the Dark Lord's eyes immediately narrowed, noticing this.

But Harry could deal with this. He _had to_ deal with this. He forced himself to breathe calmly and tore his eyes off his enemy.

"Daniel, Alice, I apologize for this. I really do. Please, if you excuse us for a moment, I need to talk to _Walter_ alone." Purposely, Harry said that name as an insult. He strode out of the dinning room into the hall with a staircase, where he impatiently waited for the serpentine wizard. It didn't take too long. A moment later the Dark Lord emerged there and slowly closed the door behind him.

Voldemort eyed him in silence; his healthy hand adjusting the black robes attentively.

"What was that about?" the younger man hissed venomously and in response Riddle sneered in his glowering face.

"Isn't this my question to ask, _Harry_? Tell me, have you changed your mind and decided to prompt that stupid muggles to call the police on us?"

"Of course not! But you messed with their minds, bastard! Have you really thought that I would sit by and do nothing?-!" the young wizard sputtered furiously.

"Say it louder, Potter. They haven't heard you yet."

"You-" Harry growled and bit his lip hard enough to taste blood.

"What do you want, Potter?" Voldemort whispered and his stare, if possible, intensified.

"What?" Harry muttered; the question caught him off guard.

"You've heard me, brat!" The Dark Lord bristled visibly at Harry's ignorance.

"I don't know what you mean," Harry retorted, doing his best to hold his composure.

Riddle snorted in annoyance, pacing back and forth in the narrow hall. "I mean _everything_. Sometimes it looks like you alone don't know it. Let me give you an example or two. You proclaimed to be my enemy and when you had a chance to kill me, you saved me."

"That's because-!"

Voldemort cut him off with a freezing glare and went on.

"You also urged me to treat those muggles _nicely_ and when I did you were _mad_."

"You attacked Daniel's mind-!"

"What is it you really want, boy?-!"

The sight of Voldemort's resentfully raised upper lip should be threatening but Harry didn't really feel it that way. He replied as calmly as he could.

"Just leave Daniel and his family out of this. He saved our lives and he doesn't deserve to be a victim of your mind games!"

Voldemort stood there, towering above him, watching him for a good minute before he snorted in disgust.

"I see. Your precious _Daniel_ is the only thing on your mind, right?"

"What do you mean?" Harry asked again and even though he tried to sound warningly, his voice displayed all his insecurity.

"Your beloved doctor is going to be all right, Potter," Riddle whispered acidly, turned away and began to climb the stairs. He halted on the fourth step and looked halfway back.

"But I have bad news for you, boy. He's already married."

"Wh ... What ... WHAT?-!" Harry screamed once he perceived the hint, but Voldemort was already gone and though the young raven was ready to follow him and have another fight, he ultimately decided that settling the matter with Mr. Rodgers and his wife had a higher priority. He would deal with the bastard later if he was given a chance.

*****

_London, the Ministry of Magic_

_22__nd__ December 2000, 20:00_

It was long since Dragomir Negura last felt this thirsty. Being the Leader of a new vampire population in London and at the same time the highest adviser of the Minister for Magic was a difficult and time consuming task. He alone found it hard to believe that he was wiling to go this far for Voldemort, his dreamed-of trophy. The whole Dark Lord's pursuit was incredibly tiresome as it consisted of endless council meetings, Umbridge's persuasion, Death Eaters tracking and general playing the nice guy while plotting against him all the time. The worst of all was the lack of time for feeding in his schedule, which he to be honest denied himself for more than this reason. He wasn't too fond of an idea of wasting his precious time on some nameless muggle, some lost existence, which would only leave a gross aftertaste on his palate. He wanted something better and so he rather starved. It was something most of the vampires couldn't even imagine to do. Naturally, it left him feeling cold and empty. Dragomir wasn't stupid though; he was well aware of the risk of this state. Hungry vampires were always susceptible to act rashly and unpredictably. They were often driven by mere instincts, mad from their desire for blood and regardless of a danger they could be exposed to. It would be a great mistake to succumb to this when he was after Voldemort. Though he didn't believe that the Dark Lord could cause him a serious harm, underestimating him was something had done once and he didn't want to repeat it. He learned how cruel and merciless Voldemort could be if he wanted to.

Negura also knew that this wizard was one of the most determined survivors, so he expected him to stay alive and return to power. And he assumed that he'll do so quickly. Once back he was confident that the Dark Lord is going to be livid; especially after learning that that he, his age-long enemy, took over _his_ Ministry. That he accomplished this within a couple of days while Voldemort never really succeeded during last thirty years (if he didn't consider some short-term exceptions).

He couldn't stop thinking how funny would it be seeing Voldemort seethe in rage that most of the Death Eaters, who were imprisoned in Azkaban, obeyed his enemy's orders now.

How amusing would it be to listen to the Dark Lord's screams of fury as he saw him, the Leader, with the army of Aurors at his service.

How priceless would it be to hear him acknowledge his defeat and join him without a fight. That's what he desired above anything. Seeing Voldemort on his knees, feeling his hot, rich blood flowing down his dry throat, knowing that it was given willingly.

Negura's tall body shuddered and he licked his dry cold lips. He wasn't sure if he could wait that long.

He _needed_ to find him _now_.

It shouldn't be a major problem as he already knew where to start his search. He watched Potter carrying Voldemort from the quarry, witnessed the car accident and followed that muggle's vehicle all the way to the hospital.

If Voldemort was still there, he should prepare to have an unexpected visitor. If he was not, it didn't matter, he'll find him anyway.

Negura resolutely approached the fireplace grabbed a fistful of Floo Powder. He'll use this uncomfortable way of transportation to get to the surface, Diagon Alley most likely, and then he'll fly to the destination. It shouldn't take too long. He threw the powder into the flames, which immediately turned green and rose to reach his height. He watched it for a moment, amused, considering that he's possibly the only vampire unafraid of fire. Then he heard a loud knock on the door in the next room and Leontina's voice calling for him. He only smirked at her blatancy, steeped in the flames, shouted the name of the street and vanished.

*****

_Crowborough, Southern England_

_22__nd__ December 2000, 20:12_

Harry was immensely worried about how the doctor and his wife were going to accept his apology for that dinner incident. If he did something like that when he still lived by the Dursleys, Vernon would be throttling him and Petunia would eventually persuade her husband to lock him in the bedroom or the cupboard under the stairs for the rest of the day. Unlike them, Daniel could easily kick him out and that was something Harry dreaded the most.

That's why he was really queasy when he stood before the doctor and his wife, stammering some stupid apology. The worst thing about it was that he couldn't tell them that he was actually trying to protect them. Once again, Voldemort made a total mess of his life. Mr. Rodgers would hardly permit him to stay in his house after seeing him throw such a fit, so Harry already began to prepare himself for a preliminary departure. He didn't dare to hope to be forgiven; hence he was shaken to the core when it turned out that he was wrong. Neither Daniel nor Alice held a grudge against him; they considered the whole mater utterly unimportant and instead of some reprimand they invited him for an evening tea. Harry was so happy that he even forgot to thank them for their benevolence.

It was hard to believe that just a moment ago he felt so uncomfortable in their presence. They were nothing like the Dursleys and Harry should have realized this long ago. Whilst Vernon Dursley detested everything what differed from normality, Daniel Rodgers totally loved it. How else could Harry explain that the two of them presently discussed the best vehicle ever invented and while he suggested a broom, Daniel opposed with a flying carpet? Harry was certain that the doctor didn't really believe that a broom or a carpet can fly; still it didn't stop him from having and enjoying this conversation.

In the end, it was Mr. Rodgers who was trying to convince the young wizard that a carpet must be much more comfortable to fly on, while Harry kept on reasoning that a broom is a considerably faster and has a better steering control. Annie and Alice who listened to the whole exchange were having a great fun too and kept on snickering at them all the time. Eventually, when they ran out of all utilizable flying items, Alice decided that it was time for Annie to go to bed, which her daughter vehemently refused. Alice was however very adamant; she sent Annie to the bathroom and also left to make some preparations for tomorrow. This reminded Harry that he still somehow had to survive the last night in Voldemort's company. His good humor quickly faded away and he began to contemplate the possibility of asking Daniel to sleep downstairs on the sofa. Certainly, the doctor wouldn't mind this settlement, but Harry knew he wouldn't be able to have a good rest if he didn't know what the Dark Lord was doing upstairs.

Daniel had to notice Harry's sudden seriousness because he unexpectedly asked: "What's the matter, Harry? You seemed to be lost in thoughts all of a sudden."

The younger man tried not to make a fake smile in response.

"Just thinking," he replied convincingly. Daniel tacitly accepted Harry's brief explanation and slowly stretched his stiff shoulders from the long sitting.

"Tired too, right? Honestly, I feel like following Annie's suit myself. My back hurt pretty much."

Harry wasn't surprised to hear that. After all, few hours back the poor doctor carried Voldemort to the upper floor all by himself. Frankly, Harry's own back ached from a similar task. So he simply nodded.

"You can stay here and watch TV or video and if you get hungry you can take whatever you want from the fridge."

"Thanks," Harry nodded again.

The doctor smiled at him wearily, scrambled on his feet and halted as he recalled something. "Either I or Alice will wake you tomorrow at half past seven. We will leave after the breakfast, is that fine with you?"

"Yeah. Sounds perfect. Good night, Daniel."

"Good night, Harry." The doctor replied and left the room and Harry was suddenly alone. He wondered whether he should or shouldn't do as Daniel suggested and watch TV. He ultimately decided against it and rather used that time to think. This was his first real chance to contemplate the dreadful cave incident and everything what happened thereafter.

He would have lied to himself if he said that everything stayed the same. Even though it was just one week since he and Voldemort happened to be involuntary prisoners in the cave, many things had changed between them. Before, his hatred towards the Dark Lord was endless and he could tell that the feeling was highly mutual. Regardless of their hopeless situation they tried to kill each other any chance they had. Some time later, when it became clear that no one will come to rescue them, his thoughts focused on taking a more active part in ensuring of his survival. His attitude towards Riddle turned to be more distant, except of their constant vicious arguments. When he considered this, he had to admit that since the moment they fell in the cave they either ignored each other or argued and fought. Reluctantly, Harry came to conclusion that maybe those frantic quarrels served as an 'explosion vent' which eventually diminished their antipathies to the current, nearly bearable level.

A week ago Harry could hardly rest on a sofa with the Dark Lord around. He would feel an unstoppable urge to get up and have a death match. How did that happen that a thought of killing his archenemy lost a substantial part of its importance? To make this confusion even worse, he noticed that Voldemort began to show similar misbehavior. Riddle's talking didn't change very much, but his activities did. Voldemort indeed confirmed that he wanted to kill him along with the doctor and his family; however this couldn't justify the lack of his action. As far as Harry remembered the Dark Lord always used every opportunity he had to try to murder him without a mercy. And yet, few hours ago when he was unconscious and Voldemort could easily slay him without any obstacle, Riddle spared him for some reason. Why didn't he finish it, called his Death Eaters and disappeared? What was he waiting for? Could it be that the Dark Lord felt a hint of gratitude, a trace of obligation? What exactly happened by the dinner? Riddle might have played a nasty game with Daniel and Alice, but he didn't harm anyone! His actions may be intolerable from Harry's personal point of view, yet according to Voldemort's standard demeanor he was surprisingly kind!

Harry knew that it was a lost game to try to decipher what he was up to by mere sitting here and pondering about it. So far, there was only one thing he was certain about.

Their relationship underwent some kind of unforeseen _evolution_.

Unwanted evolution.

Undesirable evolution!

"Gah!" Harry sputtered in annoyance and slammed his fist against the armrest. He was as clueless about it as he was at the beginning of the 'Horcrux hunt' about everything. It turned out to be pointless to torment his mind with more of these unanswerable questions. What he really needed now was a long portion of a healthy sleep to clear the mess in his thoughts.

Making a quick decision he got up, briefly stopped by the door to switch off the light and then hobbled upstairs and entered Annie's bedroom without any warning.

"Voldemort?" he muttered before he almost instantly noticed a dark figure by the window. He watched him for a good minute, waiting to be acknowledged. When another moment went by and the Dark Lord still stared outside without a slightest movement, the young wizard's asked with a certain curiosity.

"Are you waiting for someone?"

"Mind your own business, Potter," Voldemort spoke coldly, not bothering to turn around and look at him.

"I surely will!" Harry retorted acidly and added. "I'll leave you alone, bastard. But the bed is mine!"

Seriously, Riddle might no longer try to kill him any chance he had, but he was by no means more likable.

When Voldemort didn't voice any protest Harry took it as a silent affirmation. For all he cared, Riddle could sit on his perch by the window all night long. He didn't mind as long as he kept his distance. He took off his shoe, shed his shirt and put aside his borrowed glasses. He was determined not to look at Voldemort to check what he was doing. Instead, he covered himself with a warm blanket, lay down and closed his eyes, fully trusting his hearing to warn him in case of emergency. The pillow under his head was pleasantly soft and before he knew his eyelids turned to be so heavy that he wouldn't be able to open them even if he wanted to. Pleasant warmth spread through his tired limbs, dragging him slowly to a realm of dreams and Harry didn't resist it too long.

He fell asleep and had very strange dreams. He was swimming in a wild river. At first it was easy and fun and he enjoyed the feeling of his body weightlessly floating in foaming waves. Then the scene changed and he was suddenly mercilessly towed towards a violent waterfall. He fought the rapid stream, yet the harder he tried the faster he was hauled there. Ultimately, he submerged under water, going deeper and deeper until the darkness completely enveloped him. He felt dreadfully cold and couldn't breathe. And someone laughed at him. It was infuriating to hear that cruel laughter when he was drowning.

'Who's there?-! Who are you?' he screamed and realized that it wasn't possible to yell like this under water. That couldn't be real – he had to be dreaming.

Harry woke up with a tremendous start.

The room around him was dark and quiet. It took him several long seconds before he remembered the place. Once he did, he breathed out the air he held in his lungs and wiped off droplets of sweat from his forehead. His wet hair stuck to his skin, but he didn't care. Strangely, he still felt that awful coldness, even though his body was heated and drenched in sweat. Could he be sick? Harry cursed under his breath and automatically reached for his glasses. He put them on and looked around. First he noticed that Voldemort no longer sat by the window, right after that someone lay right next to him. Cautiously he leaned forward and instantly recognized the pallid face. The Dark Lord was facing away from him, his eyes were closed and he furrowed in sleep. Harry felt too miserable to be mad at him for lying there; the influence of that weird nightmare was too strong and very persistent. His heart was still beating frantically and he felt strangely itchy, as if someone was watching him through the darkness. It couldn't be the Dark Lord as he rested beside him, but who else could it be? It was very distressing, especially in his current state, so he sat still, waiting for that sensation to diminish. When it intensified in the deathly stillness, Harry started to be seriously nervous. That awful feeling made his skin crawl.

Voldemort muttered something, his long fingers dug in the soft sheets and his skinny figure shuddered briefly. Harry secretly hoped that he awakened, so they could talk. He knew it was an infantile wish, normal people wouldn't want their enemies to mollify them, but Harry couldn't help himself. As the Dark Lord still slept, Harry eventually decided to woke him and fabricate some excuse later. He couldn't stand that oppressive sensation anymore.

He leaned to his face, preparing to whisper his name, when suddenly an unstoppable urge compelled him to look at the window. Something deeply instinctive took control of his movements and he turned his head in that direction.

And then he saw _it_.

He should rather say he saw him, but on that instant he couldn't think very clearly. At first all he noticed was a tall black robed person behind the window, floating in the air without any support. If Harry weren't certain that the Dark Lord slept beside him, he would have promised it was him. Harry gathered all his courage and looked the person in the face. The man certainly wasn't Riddle because he saw was quite handsome face, even though its sharp features were crooked into a despiteful grimace. His navy-blue eyes were, however, very far from pleasant; they shined in an angry light, stabbing Harry like two long steel daggers.

When that person moved toward the window Harry couldn't hold back a yelp. He also backed off and fell over Voldemort who roused at Harry's exclamation.

"Potter!" the Dark Lord sputtered furiously and grasped Harry's naked shoulder. He was evidently going to scold him when he noticed Harry's shocked expression.

"What? What is it? What happened?" he quickly inquired, his cold voice was threatening and his grip painful.

"S... someone ... someone's outside," Harry stammered as he tried to shake off that icy constriction.

"Who's outside?-!" Voldemort barked rabidly, failing to cover his fury and fear behind his usual mask of indifference.

"I don't know!" Harry cried. "Look by yourself, he's behind the window!"

Both of them simultaneously looked there, but saw no one. The window was empty, merely glittering in the soft light coming from the street.

"He was there, just a moment ago!" Harry held his own, feeling a bit silly and paranoid.

Voldemort hesitated only for a second. Then he turned to Harry and grasped his chin.

"Look at me, Potter," he enjoined and when Harry did, he immediately felt the Dark Lord's mental probe.

"Damn!" Voldemort cursed under his breath and before Harry could comprehend what was going on, he was pushed away wildly and Riddle disappeared from his sight.

Harry felt like swearing too.

"Who was that? What's going on?"

"Be quiet, Potter!" he received a clipped reply and then he heard a grumble and clatter of pencils against Annie's desk.

"The hell I won't! Not before you tell me...!"

A cold hand covered his mouth stopped his tirade.

"Be quiet, boy," Riddle repeated and maybe it was just Harry's imagination, but he sounded somehow desperate. "I need to listen." Harry tried to wrench out of Voldemort's cold grasp, but the second arm, the one covered in plaster, circled around his chest and held him steady. "Don't move."

They stood in silence and Harry was so anxious that he had troubles breathing. Seconds quickly passed by and so far nothing happened. The only sound Harry unmistakably heard was his own heartbeat, pounding in his ears. His eyes were fixed on the window, which looked completely harmless in its emptiness. He felt his fear gradually ebb away as an irritation took its place. That bastard kept his hold on his mouth and the smell and taste of his cold skin nettled Harry beyond any measure. Voldemort was also breathing on his neck and his hard ribs every now and then rubbed against Harry's naked shoulder blades. It made the young wizard squirm. He refused to acknowledge first traces of heat forming between their bodies as well as his sudden, involuntary reaction to it. Resolutely, he seized Voldemort's wrist and pulled it away from his face. His breathing eased and he turned to look over his shoulder and whispered.

"I'll go check it out."

"_**Don't be a fool, Potter. He's here**_," he heard a terse hiss against his earlobe. Funny, if Voldemort knew him any better he wouldn't have tried to stop him. He would have known it was meaningless. The young man pried himself off the Dark Lord and with last glance over his shoulder he carefully approached the window pane. He convinced himself that there was nothing to be afraid of. Whoever made Voldemort nervous should mean no harm to him, right? He stopped about two feet from a window sill and cautiously leaned forward. It was dark outside, the sky was covered with heavy clouds and it seemed to be raining a little. His eyes skimmed over the street lights, rooftops and branches of trees swaying in the breeze. When he saw nothing unusual or alarming, Harry slowly relaxed. He was just about to turn back; already looking aside when he heard someone whisper his name. That melodic voice sounded playful and seductive, yet somehow false and dangerous.

In a split of second Harry glanced back and the stranger was right there, facing him a couple of inches from the glass, his pale fingers touching it experimentally.

"Harry Potter, right?" he murmured against it. Oddly, Harry heard him as good as if he stood right next to him.

"It fascinates me that you're still alive."

"Who ... who are you?" Harry forced through his constricted throat. The piercing navy-blue eyes focused on him and the man's handsome face lit up as he smiled.

"A friend ... maybe ... though I haven't come for such a mediocre boy like you. I _want_ the Dark Lord. I'm tired of waiting for him. Bring him to _me_."

It shocked Harry how much he wanted to obey the stranger's order. It cost him all his willpower to refuse.

"No you say," the man whispered again. For some reason Harry felt like a chicken under hawk's stare. "You can't know it, but ... by refusing my order you're getting yourself into serious troubles."

"Who are you?-! Either tell me your name, or get lost!" Harry sputtered, keeping his chin up, showing no fear. It only began to dawn at him, that this guy had seen him and Voldemort together. Indeed, the consequences of this may be severe.

"Stubborn kid," the man smiled softly. "Maybe this is the reason why Voldemort let you live for so long. I remember how dearly he values bravery." He licked his lips and his smile turned to leer. "But enough of stupid talks, boy. Open that window."

Those blue eyes had an incredible coercive power. Harry felt he would freeze to death if he disobeyed. Hesitantly, he raised his hand and stopped again. It felt like being under Imperius Curse; he was also forced to do something he didn't want to. If possible, this was even harder to fight off.

The man on the other side of the window leaned closer and took a deep breath through his nose.

"You have a very nice smell, Harry. Reminds me of him a lot. Maybe ... just maybe I'll change my mind about you..." As he spoke his nice full lips slowly revealed a set of white teeth with suspiciously long canines.

"_Open that window!_"

Harry's hand trembled. Somewhere in the back of his mind he recognized all the warning signs of the man's vampirism. He knew that the worst mistake he could do was looking in his eyes. But he already did that and couldn't look away, no matter how hard he tried. His treacherous body moved once again and his fingers touched the cold glass. As he felt this, his trance weakened for a moment and he forced himself to close his eyelids.

"No," he strained through his teeth. "Go away."

The vampire laughed. Coldly. Cruelly.

"Still resisting. I'm really amused. Honestly, I can't wait to taste your tenacity..."

The icy feeling in Harry's insides intensified and he began to be seriously afraid of his blood freezing in his veins. He couldn't endure it anymore, he simply couldn't.

He opened his eyes and heard a loud clash. He backed away just in the moment when the window shattered and its small shards flew inside the bedroom. Harry instantly thought that it was the vampire who did that. But why did his face display so much of surprise?

The cold wind blew in and the dark robes of the person who knelt beside the window sill billowed.

_Voldemort._

Harry had completely forgotten about the Dark Lord, who used a chance that no one was paying him attention. He was holding up his right arm, all stained in blood from breaking through the window. Harry's eyes focused on his fist, which was dangerously close to the vampire's thorax. His long, spidery fingers were circled around three pencils, which morbidly protruded from the creature's chest.

The vampire looked down at the dark wizard and his mouth slacked and formed an astounded 'o' shape and his face prolonged in comical disbelief. Voldemort noticed this and his mouth curled upward as he spoke with malicious pleasure.

"I thought you were searching for me, Dragomir."

The two of them stared at each other for an unbearably long moment, during which the vampire's lips moved and he produce a sound which remotely reminded cursing in some foreign language.

"Haven't you heard Harry, freak? Get lost!" the Dark Lord whispered viciously and released the hold on the pencils.

The stabbed creature clearly lost the ability to fly and immediately slumped along the wall and its body heavily thudded against the ground fifteen feet lower. Then a heavy, shocked silence spread around the room.

It was Harry who first broke it with a sharp exhalation. He watched Voldemort lean from the window, turn around and look him in the face.

"You ... killed him," he finally whispered.

"You killed that vampire," Harry repeated with a stronger voice.

"If only that would be so simple, Potter," Voldemort spoke distantly and began to wipe off the blood into his robes.

"But...," Harry began.

"He's alive - if you can say this about a vampire - and he's already gone," Voldemort cut him off. "You can take it for granted."

Harry was at a loss of words. "I ... I," he began, "what the hell ...? Just tell me what that was about!"

Voldemort opened his lips to speak, but quickly closed them and froze, listening again. This time Harry heard it as well. Someone was going upstairs; the sound of the stairs creaking was unmistakable.

"Daniel," Harry breathed out and his blood pressure dropped in exhaustion. How was he going to explain the broken window and Voldemort's bleeding hand when he alone didn't exactly know what happened?

"Go back to bed, Potter!" the Dark Lord ordered and Harry did as he was told, half because he was freezing cold and the blanket was still warm and half because Riddle's tone disallowed any protests.

"_Reparo_," Voldemort hissed softly and Harry turned around and numbly watched how the scattered shards flew across the room, latched themselves together and refilled the empty window frame. It was remarkable how quickly Voldemort recovered. Twelve hours ago he was unconscious, almost dead; when he awakened he couldn't even untie a knob on his clothing and now he was fighting vampires and practicing a wandless magic.

The train of his thoughts stopped when the steps halted behind the door. By the time the glass was once more intact and Voldemort lay down beside Harry, covered himself with a second quilt and closed his eyes calmly, hiding the pools of blood behind his white eyelids.

The door handle softly clicked and room was instantly filled by a meek light coming from the hall.

"Harry?" asked a soft voice, which the young man immediately recognized as Daniel's.

"Harry?" he repeated and the doctor carefully stepped inside. The young wizard raised his head, pretending to wake up from sleep. Voldemort didn't move.

"Is everything all right? I was woken by some strange sounds coming from here," the Mr. Rodgers whispered quietly.

"Really?" Harry muttered, blinking and rubbing his eyes beneath glasses. Damn it, he completely forgot to take them off.

"I haven't heard anything."

"That's very strange," Daniel whispered confusedly. "I would have promised that I heard something shatter. Nah, I still had to be dreaming. Sorry for waking you up."

"Never mind," Harry mumbled and lay back onto the pillow.

"Isn't it a bit cold here?" Daniel asked lowly as he stood up from where he was kneeling.

"No, it's fine," Harry breathed out.

"Okay, sorry once again. See you in the morning."

The young wizard nodded and watched the doctor leave. Once he was gone, he awkwardly shifted onto his elbows.

"Voldemort?" he asked and looked down at the man beside him.

"What?" Riddle whispered coldly.

Harry wondered how to compel the Dark Lord to talk to him. He didn't want to sleep; his body was still overdosed with adrenaline. He desired to learn more.

"How's your hand?" was the first question which left his mouth. It made Voldemort open his eyes and raise an eyebrow and Harry considered that as a success.

"Why do you care, boy?"

Harry just shrugged his shoulders.

"The last thing I need is your concern," Riddle snapped and turned on his back, giving the younger man a sign that the conversation was over. But Harry didn't give up.

"Why don't you tell me who was that Dragomir? What did that vampire want? Why was he after you? How did he find us so easily?"

"Once again you're overly curious about something what doesn't concern you!" Voldemort retorted. "It's my private matter; get it finally into your thick scull!"

"Oh, is it so very private matter because Dragomir was the vampire who already had the _pleasure_ to bit you?" Harry made a well educated guess as he remembered the horrendous scar on Voldemort's throat from the hospital.

He hoped to get some reaction and received it. Voldemort spun around and grasped a handful of Harry's untidy black hair and pulled harshly.

"How did you learn about this, Potter? Where did you get this information?-!"

The young man yelped in surprise and pain, pushing the other man away.

"Ouch! That hurt, bastard! Stop it! I was just guessing, okay?-!"

Voldemort growled darkly, yet released Harry's hair and slowly lay back. Both of them were silent for a few moments, breathing heavily, watching each other.

"Why don't you tell me," Harry insisted, his eyes never leaving Voldemort's pale, smooth face.

"I hate you Potter. You won't stop bothering me until I tell you, right?" the dark wizard said cuttingly, glaring at him defensively.

"That's correct," Harry grinned, nestling his head on the pillow.

However, Voldemort didn't speak. His head moved away and he let out an exasperated sigh.

"That guy, that Dragomir," Harry continued when the silence prolonged, "I met him first in the quarry, right? You tried to run away from him, but he caught you. I bet it was him, wasn't it?"

The Dark Lord took his time to reply quietly. "Your deduction abilities are certainly interesting, Potter." He paused, thinking, and then he spoke again.

"His name is Dragomir Negura. He is a _bizarre _vampire who's specialized on hunting dark wizards and he came to finish a certain job he left undone."

"Which means he wants to kill you," Harry butted in and Voldemort scorched him with his flaring gaze.

"I'm sure that finding us wasn't an easy task for him," Riddle continued as if he didn't hear the interruption. "Though, he is clever enough to use every opportunity he gets to obtain what he wants and that's why he mostly succeeds. I want you to know Potter that I only told you this, because everyone who learns the truth about him is doomed to die. Sweet dreams, brat."

"Hang on!" Harry gasped and grasped Riddle's shoulder, which elicited furious hissing from his companion. He quickly retracted his hand and spoke.

"How is it possible that I've never heard of him before?"

Voldemort slowly turned around, facing him, fully agitated now.

"That's because everyone who did is already dead, or _undead_ – which means a vampire in his service, moron!"

"But if he hunts dark lords, why would he represent a threat to ordinary people? Why would he kill them?"

"Don't be so naive, Potter! The fact that he kills dark wizards doesn't make him a good guy! Don't you know the old Aurors' saying: 'To kill the devil you must be worse.'? By the way, why do you think that a substantial part of dark wizards stems from their hunters? Because there's no difference between good and evil. There's only power and those too weak to seek it. I thought I explained this to you ten years ago and yet you still haven't understood the true meaning!"

Harry kept Riddle's gaze, wanting yet unable to contravene the statement instantly.

Voldemort used that chance to continue.

"Aren't you a bit old to live in that childish illusion - the one which that old fool implemented in your brain? _Love_ will never gain victory over hatred and hostility. Face the reality, Potter!"

Harry's lips tightened in a stern line and he slowly shook his head in refusal.

"If you're right, then why we're still alive?"

"What do you mean?" the Dark Lord hissed venomously.

"I mean if hatred and hostility always win above everything what's good inside you, then why we are still alive?"

"You ... stupid boy! I don't want to know about the depths of your insanity which brought you to that ridiculous act of saving my life."

Harry's face was serene and he even smiled a little as he spoke.

"You could have let me drown in that cave, you know. You could have easily killed me when I was unconscious or asleep. You could have let that vampire murder me, but you..."

The cold hand returned to his lips, squeezing them firmly.

"Just don't tell me anything about the depths of _my _insanity," Harry muttered through the chilly fingers.

Voldemort looked aside, clearly fighting a fit of violence. He also seemed to be distracted to the point that even his anger couldn't fully hide it.

"You don't understand any of this, Potter! If you haven't diverted Negura's attention, I wouldn't have the slightest chance against him. _I'd be dead. He would have killed me._"

He paused, inhaled deeply and when he spoke again, his insistent voice was a way much softer.

"It's you who saved me again, not the other way around."

The clasp on Harry's mouth slackened and the cool fingers moved slightly away. Now they only lightly rested on the young man's heated cheek.

"You really are exceptionally brave ... Harry. So much that it borders with stupidity. I wonder what happened to your self-preservation."

The younger man had never seen this side of Voldemort before. Unbelievable happened; he was being _praised_ by the Dark Lord, his archenemy. Why couldn't he bring himself to protest? He didn't want to listen to that, right?

When he finally blundered out something, it lacked his usual fierceness.

"I didn't intend to do anything courageous," he said. "I just ... underestimated the threat..."

He was too perplexed to continue and rather stared in turns Voldemort in the face, in his dilated eyes, and back at his hand which moved along his jaw.

The long pale digits traced his cheekbone and touched the frame of his spectacles. Harry's confusion grew constantly, it felt too weird. He wanted to move away and wondered why he didn't yet.

"Hey ... what are you doing?" he finally stammered, losing his nerves under the other man's stare.

Voldemort's seemingly lipless mouth opened, then closed and tightened for a brief moment before he the mask of indifference slipped back onto his face and he simply said.

"These glasses don't suit you very much. I liked the old ones better."

Harry didn't know why but with his indignation came a strange relief.

"Then you shouldn't destroy them, bastard!" he yelped and Voldemort only nodded once. "I know," he said and finally pulled away.

"You should get some sleep, Potter," he added quietly a moment later. "Who knows what will happen tomorrow."

Then he turned on the other side and left the bewildered youngster to his restless thoughts.

_**R&R**_


	27. Say goodbye

**Author's note:** I'm back! Don't worry, I didn't abandon this story! Only this chapter was difficult for me to write. There's some angsty stuff and I know I'm not very good in description, so it took me really long to finish this. Oh, one more thing, please don't consider this the last chapter, it's definitely not (no matter how much the title is trying to suggest it :-) ).

I would also take the liberty to thank several great people, namely FIOMerz for sharing his/her interesting ideas about the plot of my story and Potter series in general with me (I'm really sorry I still haven't replied to your last message in order to focus on this chapter.), yellow 14 (Thanks for being with me from the beginning!), to all my previous reviewers and of course to all of you who will read this chapter and find it interesting enough to leave a review!

**Say goodbye**

_Crowborough, Southern England_

_23__rd__ December 2000, early morning_

As could be expected considering previous events, Harry didn't sleep well for the rest of the night. He spent most of the time staring at the dark, empty wall and occasionally at the window, waiting for the vampire to return. It didn't happen, though mere a fact that it _could _happen kept Harry awake for long hours. How and when he finally managed to fall asleep remained a mystery to him. His slumber was short and dreamless and he woke up surprised to see the bedroom already illuminated by morning twilight.

He rubbed his sleepy eyes with one hand while the other groped after his glasses in a heap of disheveled clothes beside the air-bed. Once he found them and put them on, his vision cleared and he noticed that the pillow next to him was empty.

Voldemort was gone.

"Damn!" the young man instantly sputtered and swiftly sat up. As a result, his blood pressure dropped violently, bringing him close to complete blackout.

Harry sank back in cushions.

"Darn it!" he cursed again and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Once blood returned to his brain, he started to ponder about what he was going to do. He knew he had to get up fast and check whether everyone in the house was all right.

Harry didn't even want to think about Riddle's abilities to hurt those kind, unsuspecting muggles. There was only one thing which kept him from panicking at the moment. If Voldemort decided to kill them all, he would certainly made him the first victim. And as far as he was still alive...

Somewhere in the middle of his contemplation he heard the door to the bedroom creak softly. It warned him that someone was coming inside and since the person didn't bother to knock, it couldn't be anyone else but ... the Dark Lord.

Indeed, his tall, emaciated figure soundlessly swept into the room, his black satin robes billowing behind him.

Harry instantly noticed that there was something very odd with the Dark Lord's visage and when he realized what it was, he couldn't hold back a chuckle. Riddle was wearing a light blue towel around his neck; a clear proof of visiting a bathroom. More importantly, he was still here and not on some ruthless quest to kill every muggle in a five mile radius. Harry calmed down from his nearly panic mode and relaxed a little.

Riddle, however, didn't seem to share his mood improvement as he subdued the young man to his well known scornful glare.

"Finally awake, Potter?" he spoke coldly when Harry didn't start the conversation immediately.

The young wizard merely shrugged his shoulders and sat up again, though he moved slower this time to avoid previous sickness.

"I was secretly hoping that by the time of my return you'll make yourself more presentable," the older man continued and kept his freaky eyes on Harry's naked chest.

"Why don't you mind your own business?" Harry yawned, easily using one of Voldemort's favorite phrases.

An acid hiss served as an instant reminder that Harry stepped over a thin line of acceptable behavior. Voldemort was not accustomed to be treated with similar disrespect. Harry could see how much of great effort it cost him to keep his composure; he saw how his pearly white skin glowed in anger.

"Don't push your luck, Potter!" Riddle strained through clenched teeth. "When it leaves you – and it will leave you, it's only a matter of time – it will be too late for you to regret."

"Whatever." Harry grimaced and leaned forward to prop his chin against a knee, which he brought to his chest. It was long since Voldemort's threats stopped having a proper effect on him.

"By the way, you're immensely pleasant this morning," he snorted quietly, irony dripping from his every word as he watched the older man pace across the room. "I assume you also didn't sleep very well tonight."

"It's rare of you to be right, Potter." The Dark Lord stopped, looked at him and sneered. His long fangs bared in annoyance as he spoke. "Indeed, I didn't sleep well, because you _snored_!"

Harry impulsively denied the accusation.

"I did NOT!"

"You _did_, Potter!"

Harry gritted his teeth firmly. It was absurd and childish to carry on with this argument. But he wished to score Voldemort off for once.

"So what if I snored! I bet my snoring wasn't as loud as yours!"

The response was immediate. Riddle was within a second towering above him and his glare multiplied tenfold.

"_What did you say?_"

Okay, maybe it was time to leave it alone. It was not worth the problems to taunt _His Evilness_.

"Nothing," Harry grumbled and looked away of the fuming face.

The rush of adrenalin which was brought on by his fear for Daniel's family was gone and Harry suddenly couldn't wait to have a morning cup of coffee to vitalize his spirit.

But first, he had to visit the bathroom too as his basic urges requested to be taken care of. Harry rolled to the side and tried to get up, but his heavy, uncomfortable plaster was making it rather difficult. He cursed quietly, rolled on his stomach and shortly after that managed to support his body weight on a healthy leg. As he struggled to get up he caught sight of unnaturally pale skin by the corner of his eye. His head moved on instinct to double-check what he saw. Voldemort was sitting on the other side of the bed, still overly upset as he was distractedly dressing up his trousers. It was his calf peeping out from behind his robes what Harry noticed by chance.

Of course it didn't mean anything. Harry was supposed to look away and pretend he hadn't seen it. There was absolutely no reason to pay attention to any part of Riddle's body. So why was he still eyeing it with a genuine interest? Could it be that the calf together with that slim, pale, incredibly long and completely hairless shank represented a leg, which could easily make few models seethe with envy?

Ginny used to have marvelous legs, he remembered all of a sudden. They were absolutely faultless and amazingly soft.

He recalled all those long walks around Hogwarts when she wore that short, lovely skirt, knowing that he enjoyed watching her like that the most. He had a weak spot for perfect legs ever since...

"What are you staring at, _Potter_?"

Voldemort's unnaturally cold voice woke him from that blissful trance. His foible seemed to backfire on him right now.

Harry's face instantly turned purple. Within a second he was so embarrassed that he couldn't even breathe properly through his constricted throat. Could it be that his archenemy just caught him while he was checking him out?-! Well, he wasn't exactly checking him out, but it was undeniable that his companion could easily see it that way!

Riddle was glaring at him, for understandable reasons. His facial expression remained stern and suspicious and he held his trousers tightly to his knees with the slightest hint of insecurity. Harry couldn't stand those searing eyes anymore, he looked away and muttered.

"Err ... I just ... ehm... I ... I was..." Somewhere in the middle of his chaotic babble he realized he didn't know what to say. Strangely, heat started to rise in his body. Why was suddenly so hot in the room?

"_Well?_" Voldemort inquired with a trace of anger and also curiosity in his cold voice.

"Just ... forget it," Harry choked out and with a rocket speed he stood up and bolted out of the bedroom. He reached the bathroom incredibly fast, shut the door close and quickly leaned over the sink, pressing his heated forehead against the cold surface of the mirror before him.

"What was that right now?" he whispered, his knuckles turning white as he tightened his hold on the sink.

"What was that about?" he spoke louder and looked up to see his face in the fogged mirror, searching for some answer in there.

He was very well aware of the problem in his trousers. How could that possibly happen? He was truly mortified to the deepest core of his being.

"It's because of Ginny," he whispered and nervously licked his lips. "It's because of Ginny, I was thinking of her, right?"

He continued to reassure himself for several minutes as he stared in the mirror at his own dumbfounded expression. Ultimately, he found the only possible solution.

"Gosh, I _really_ need some girl! This becomes a serious matter!"

When even several moments later nothing changed about his physical state regardless of his abashment, he growled in desperation.

It was a time for a cold morning shower.

*****

_London, the Ministry of Magic_

_23__rd__ December 2000, 04:18_

Draco couldn't clearly remember the last time he had a decent sleep. It couldn't be longer than few days but it felt like centuries. He was so tired that his eyes were spontaneously closing against his will. He stopped resisting his heavy eyelids and leaned against the wall, listening to the soft crackle of flames in a fireplace and the scraping of a quill against a parchment.

"How long till we leave, father?" he asked quietly.

The scribbling continued and he cracked his right eye open to look at the man sitting by a small, varnished table.

"It's almost done," said the older Malfoy as he got up, folding the parchment precisely and writing the name of the recipient on the top. "This is a letter for your mother. Since we are leaving the Ministry, it would be very unwise of her coming here to look for us."

Draco nodded once and turned to look out of the window. It was dark outside again. The Leader was trying to offer as much comfort to the vampires as he could. Just thinking of that monster made him shiver.

"Father...," he began hesitantly. "Do you think it's a good idea? If we flee now, Negura will be after us, mad and ravenous..."

"Go fetch an owl, Draco," Lucius responded sternly. "We are leaving."

"What if the Dark Lord refuses to offer us protection after learning what happened? What if he won't forgive you? What will happen to us then? Or ...what if Negura defeats him?" Draco inquired instead of following the father's order.

"That's enough, Draco. Negura's momentarily gone. I am going to use this chance and leave before he returns. Stay here if you want, but let me assure you my son - this vampire won't let you live long."

"I'm aware of this, but..."

"Don't you understand, Draco? This may be my last chance to return to the Dark Lord! If I find him, offer him information on his long time enemy and help him defeat that vampire, I'll be forgiven! I may even become his favorite again! And I don't doubt the Dark Lord's ability to defeat Negura. He succeeded forty years ago, why wouldn't he win now? Besides, the only one prophesized to defeat our Master is Potter and no one managed to convince me that the stupid boy stands any chance. There's no wizard who can match the Dark Lord's power."

All of a sudden the room temperature dropped by several degrees.

Both man quietened and listened to the sound of a strange wind blowing through slots beneath a door and windows.

_Dementors_, was the first thought which occurred to the younger man. Yet the feeling of coldness remained plainly subjective, so he couldn't confirm his suspicion. Then he saw his father seize the wand and his back stiffened in trepidation.

"What is it, father?" he asked quietly, trying to keep his voice as steady as possible.

The fire nearly died out and the interior of the parlor began to fade away in darkness.

"Pull out you wand," Lucius whispered and Draco did as he was told. His palms began to sweat even though the temperature continued decreasing. Copying the moves of the older man, Draco pointed his wand at the massive oak door.

"Father..."

He glanced up at the other man's face, which was already covered in shadows. Even over a sudden dusk he noticed the strange sallow color of the man's skin.

"Suddenly ... I have a very bad feeling about this...," Lucius whispered almost soundlessly.

On that instant the door burst open with a gust of the cold wind, revealing a sole figure behind it surrounded by utter darkness.

It was Negura.

Draco could only gasp as he noticed how different the man looked. The coldness emanating from him was incredible.

Gone was his pleasantry and friendliness. Gone was the false amiability. The creature before them had nothing in common with his _godfather_. Negura's dark clad body was slightly bent forward, one of his palms was pressed against his chest, the other convulsed around his wand. There was a strange wheezing sound escaping him with every unnecessary breath. His pale face had a strange waxy quality and his lips trembled and tightened repeatedly.

He didn't speak.

Those deep-set navy eyes skimmed over Draco's body and then focused on the older man by his side.

"Going somewhere ... Lucius?" Negura finally spoke, his husky voice breaking the tension only to form much stronger one. Draco's father absently ran his hand down his travel cloak and fisted the heavy cloth.

He didn't reply. None of them moved for another five unbearably long seconds.

"It's time, my friend," the vampire rasped again. "Forget Voldemort. You belong to me, right?"

Draco's breath hitched in his throat. What did Negura mean when saying this?

The answer came all too soon.

"I'm very ... _very_ thirsty ... now."

"No," Lucius stammered in denial, staggering backwards several steps, clutching at his neck. Draco's brain ceased to function for a second.

Negura moved again, more fluently then before, his perfect lips suddenly revealing long, glistering canines.

Something in Draco's head snapped.

His hand moved on its own accord, wordlessly casting the first nasty spell on his mind. By the corner of his eye he noticed his father attacking the Leader as well. None of the curses found the target, though. Negura was a way too fast for them to track him. The whole fight didn't last longer than several seconds. After few glorious explosions of light the duel was over.

Draco found himself pressed against the wall by some powerful, invisible force. He couldn't move his body, it was like being petrified and yet forced to watch what was going to happen.

"NO!" he shrieked in terror as he noticed his father on the floor, wandless and defeated.

He was being ignored as Leader's eyes remained fixed on the struggling man in front of him. Lucius slowly stood up, tottering a little. His face was a display of a naked fear.

"Dragomir ... this is not necessary," he spoke quickly with some inarticulacy. "You can find someone else. You said it yourself – we are friends, right? You ... you wouldn't hurt me."

There was so much of concealed hope hidden in that unsteady voice.

Negura's face showed his disappointment right away. He even sighed a little, rubbing his breastbone mindlessly.

"You mortals," he spoke with contempt. "Still the same pleas over and over again. Why are you so insistent in your refusal? It's as if you didn't know that I'm only causing you harm in order to give you immortality. Isn't that what all of you dream about? And then when you can have it you instantly change your mind and become a bunch of chicken-hearted poltroons."

He raised his head a little. "What I'm trying to say is that I don't care what you want Lucius. You'll surely be grateful ... later."

Draco watched this, frightened as he had never been before. Not even the Dark Lord made his heart beat so erratically. This couldn't be truth, this simply wasn't happening!

But as his father backed away slowly, speechless in knowledge that his life was over, he couldn't stop the screams and pleads escaping his throat.

"FATHER!"

"FATHER!"

"DON'T KILL HIM! PLEASE! I'LL DO ANYTHING!"

"JUST DON'T KILL HIM!"

Just as Draco took a deep breath to continue in his lament, the older Malfoy, who was being gradually cornered, spoke and his voice was surprisingly calm and even.

"If I could wish one thing it would be my son spared of this view."

"Stop pampering your child, Lucius," Negura whispered, closing on him. "He's a big boy now. You must strengthen his endurance in order to ensure his survival, don't you think?"

He snatched the hem of Malfoy's cloak and brought him so close that their bodies briefly touched.

"You used to be Voldemort's faithful servant. Before you unconditionally join my army I believe that you'll be pleased to know that you are the Dark Lord's substitute for me tonight."

"NO!" Draco shrieked as he met his father's eyes for the one last time.

"NO!!!" He repeated when the vampire leaned down to attack the exposed throat.

Then all the pitiful cries coming from Draco's mouth were deafened by a helpless scream of Negura's new victim.

*****

_Crowborough, Southern England_

_23__rd__ December 2000, 7:45_

Harry felt those creepy, blood red eyes bore into him again. Ever since he returned from the bathroom, Riddle's stare kept piercing him with a formerly unknown intensity and it was slowly driving him crazy.

The older wizard remained very discreet, thought. Every time Harry felt he was being gazed at, he looked up to 'kindly advice' the Dark Lord to quit doing that. Voldemort was always a way faster and looked away before getting caught. They kept this on, exchanging silent glares while they sat by the table and ate full English breakfast Alice kindly prepared for them. She and her husband were oblivious to their staring contest as usual. They happily chatted about weather, Christmas, children, work - generally whatever topic came to their mind. Harry mostly managed to respond with one word replies as he only marginally registered what the conversation had been about. He couldn't properly focus on the discussion when Voldemort was sitting across from him, distracting him greatly.

Why his body always jolted into that strange awareness whenever Riddle stabbed him with that stare, Harry didn't know. It was that kind of reaction people feel when they are around someone they like. The only problem was that Harry didn't see anything he might like about the bloody Dark Lord (except his legs and that tattoo - both fortunately hidden underneath his robes.) Riddle's face was not attractive by any means, nor were his unnaturally long, spidery fingers.

Riddle was his archenemy, for Merlin's sake! He should not stare at how innocuous his digits looked when holding a fork instead of a wand!

Harry took another bite of a whole wheat bread and looked up as he felt those scorching eyes on his face again. Harry snorted in agitation. If Voldemort had some problem with him, why didn't he tell anything? He had always been more than eager to gloat over Harry's weakness and errors. And now instead of mocking and taunting him, he simply played with his own breakfast, poking the baked beans with the tip of his fork before spearing them maliciously and bringing them to his mouth.

Harry found somehow improper watching him eat, so he looked down at his own plate and noticed that someone held a rather large paper bag right in front of his face.

"Huh...," he breathed out in surprise and looked up to see Alice standing beside him, smiling at him gently.

"What ... is it?" he muttered, cursing himself for not paying her attention before.

"Some Christmas cookies for you ... and Walter. I baked them together with Annie few days ago. It might suit your taste later. I don't want you to leave us empty-handed..."

"That's very kind of you. Thank you," Harry whispered sincerely and nearly kicked the Dark Lord beneath the table to get some reaction out of him. His mouth would not rot away if he thanked them as well.

The young wizard, however, ultimately decided not to do so as Voldemort's response would very likely be catastrophic.

"Alice, do you know where Annie is?"

Daniel's question distracted Harry enough to make him stop thinking about Riddle's hostility. He suddenly realized he hadn't seen Daniel's daughter whole morning and it made him slightly worried.

"She insisted to have her breakfast in the kitchen," Mrs. Rodgers replied apologetically. She certainly didn't want Harry and Voldemort to think that her daughter had been avoiding them, even though it was the real reason of her absence. Unlike Mr. Rodgers Harry understood it.

"We are leaving in few minutes," Daniel spoke again as he headed to the kitchen. "I think she should at least say goodbye to Harry and Walter."

Harry heard a quiet hiss and spun around to face Riddle, who uttered quiet insults in Parseltongue.

Their eyes met for few brief seconds.

"_**I shall cut out his tongue and make him eat it for calling me that...,**_" the Dark Lord muttered nastily.

"Watch it," Harry retorted quietly, but coldly. Then he turned away and came over to Alice. He shook her hand enthusiastically and thanked her many times for her perfect care.

She smiled at him and told him it was her pleasure while Daniel emerged with Annie from the kitchen and she waved her small arm in Harry's direction. The young man winked at her encouragingly. Meanwhile, Alice brought the paper bag with cookies, which he had forgotten on the table and kissed him on a cheek, saying her goodbye. Instantly, Harry felt so cherished that if he didn't remember his friends who were waiting for him in London he probably wouldn't want to leave.

Returning home was a sign that this crazy, incredible adventure was over. Last two hours with Voldemort in the car and then they'll become mortal enemies once again.

Everything will be forgotten.

He couldn't explain why he felt so bad about it in that moment.

"Let me through, Potter," Riddle spoke coldly from somewhere behind him, making him jump in surprise. He hadn't noticed that he was blocking Voldemort's passage through and quickly stepped away.

"Mr. Moore, I'd like to say..." Alice called out as the Dark Lord was passing them but he avoided her as if she was leprous and headed towards the entrance door instead.

"Bastard," Harry muttered. Before he explained poor Alice that Voldemort was the worst type of asshole she could possibly meet, Daniel reappeared in the hall (he clearly had to calm Annie down as she suffered another panic fit from seeing Riddle in the dining room) and the explanation was postponed _ad infinitum_.

Harry let it pass; she already found it out by herself. The Dark Lord's hypocrisy was over; he finally started to show his true behavior.

"Can we go?" Daniel asked when he gave his wife a goodbye kiss and Harry only nodded; it was without doubt a time to leave. He caught up with Voldemort who stood nearly outside, tapping his foot impatiently against the glossy floor. The doctor rushed past them into the cold morning to get the car ready. Harry just turned to follow him when Alice called after them for one last time.

"Hope to see you again!"

To Harry's great surprise Voldemort actually halted for a brief moment before speaking in a low voice.

"She won't be seeing me again. If she's lucky."

And with this decisive statement he left towards doctor's car parked down the driveway.

*****

_London, the Ministry of Magic_

_23__rd__ December 2000, 04:36_

Draco's throat still burned. He screamed it raw when he was fighting the magical restrains which held him in place and forced him to watch that horror scene. His arms and legs ultimately gave up and now his body limply hung from the wall, totally exhausted. Negura still held father's lifeless body in a vice grip; Draco knew it. He kept his eyes firmly closed as he couldn't stand the sight.

_He i__s dead ... dead_, he chanted repeatedly in his head. His father was dead. He couldn't stop it. He was that incompetent.

Draco was so drained of everything that he wanted the world to end right now. Living seemed to be too hard to cling to it. Giving up was easy.

His eyes focused on the small, folded piece of parchment lying forgotten on the floor. It was the letter his father wrote minutes ago. Whatever was written inside held no further meaning; his mother will never know its content.

It made him wonder what he was going to tell her. Will he live long enough to talk to her again? Was _she_ still alive?

A sudden movement brought him back to reality. He pulled himself together and raised his head to meet Negura's collected stare. The vampire stood no farther than two feet from him, watching him curiously. Draco was slightly surprised by the absolute lack of fear he felt. There was only something else coiling in his chest. It was some strange determination leading him to a decision that if the freak did the same to him as he had done to his father he would rip his head off to repay the favor. It didn't matter that in his numb state the blazing hatred no longer consumed him. He could do it without any emotion, without the slightest satisfaction.

"You're still a child, Draco," Negura whispered, breaking the silence with his quiet voice. He reached out and carefully dried Draco's face. The young wizard never realized that he had been crying until the moment he felt that cold hand wiping tears off his cheeks.

That soft, false smile was back and Draco thought he might vomit.

Fortunately, it disappeared as the man spoke again.

"You hate me now, right?"

Draco refused to acknowledge that. He refused any form of communication with that monster.

"I want you to understand that there's no reason to feel hatred towards me, Draco."

On the contrary to Negura's expectation, those calmly spoken words evoked a stirring of searing detestation, which slowly returned to consume Draco's mind.

"Thirty-eight years ago I saved one little boy. In return for this favor I requested to become a godfather of his first child. If it was a son, he should have carried my name. But that boy didn't keep his word. He didn't give his son my name and he also denied me seeing him. He renounced my existence. As you already know, the boy I'm talking about is your father. Trust me Draco; he was more than aware of the broken promise and also of the life debt which still needed to be repaid. And it was ... tonight. You should understand this."

Draco mouthed an acid, hateful reply as he was still unable to speak aloud. Whether Negura noticed it or not he didn't care. He was caught by surprise when the magical restrains which held him upright suddenly disappeared and he slumped down the wall, boneless in his exhaustion.

"I will not harm you as long as you don't give me a reason. Remember that, Draco. You're after all my _dear godson_," the Leader explained with a calm, soft voice which was sending chills down Draco's strained spine.

It was sickening seeing that freak, being in his presence and unable to move. He wanted to get up and fight, or run away – whatever - but his body refused to cooperate. He only managed to produce a raspy growl through his burning throat.

He repeatedly tried to get up, but his pathetic legs wouldn't support him, so he stopped his efforts in order to blankly stare at his useless limbs.

"Lucius."

It was Negura who said that name and it made Draco's heart halt again. To the young man's utter horror he suddenly heard soft sounds of soles moving over the polished floor of the parlor. He didn't raise his head. He _couldn't_ look at the person approaching him.

"Help your son. Take him to bed, he needs to rest."

A pair of strong, cold arms hoisted him up on his feet and kept him there, but he still didn't look the latter to the face.

"Draco?"

It was his father's voice. It was definitely his father's voice! The young wizard's heart began to speed up at that abrupt flare of hope. He looked up and indeed, Lucius stood before him, paler than ever before, but otherwise he looked unharmed. There was no trace of suffering in his face, no reminder of the torture he experienced minutes ago. It suddenly looked as if nothing really happened.

"F ... father?" Draco managed to whisper uncertainly, refusing to believe what he saw.

In response, Lucius lips spread into a wide smile, revealing his new set of dangerously looking teeth.

"Draco ... you smell so nice."

After hearing this, the young man stopped fighting his terror and his conscious finally disappeared in the void.

*****

_A23 road,_ _close to London, _

_23__rd__ December 2000, 9:26_

The traffic wasn't as bad as they expected, but the weather was terrific. Harry stared out of the window, trying to read signboards along the highway, but heavy raindrops beating against the glass made it an impossible task. Still, Harry felt comfortable and calm during the ride as Daniel turned out to be very careful driver. The doctor was probably overly heedful because of the last accident which cost him a lot more than just a penalty. He nearly killed two people and that was a lesson he was never going to forget.

Feeling a little tired, Harry adjusted a safe belt over his shoulder and stretched his plastered leg which was stuck in between the front seats. His head sank into a headrest, his muscles relaxing as he listened to soft rumbling of engine, splashing sounds of rain against a bonnet and Daniel's quiet voice attending his work calls. In contrast to Harry's slack pose the other occupant of the back seat seemed to be totally rigid. Riddle sat so stiff that none of his muscles seemed to move. Harry glanced over him, briefly thinking how he managed to breathe in that position. He focused on Riddle's blank face and noticed slight tightening of lips every time another car overtook them speedily, disappearing in a heavy rain and mist ahead. The older wizard's undamaged hand lay curled in his lap, cradling the plaster, squeezing it imperceptibly every now and then.

Harry had to chuckle lowly when he recalled what the Dark Lord said when Daniel invited them to take the seats in the car. He said something about freaky sheet-metal vehicles which muggles use to reduce their overgrowing population.

Oh yes, the all powerful Dark Lord was no doubt terrified of traveling by car.

If they weren't irreconcilable enemies Harry would probably feel need to console him.

Without much thinking, he seized the paper bag which Alice gave him and offered it to his silent companion.

"Take some of those. Sugar will make you feel better."

Voldemort glanced at him, tearing his eyes from the scenery behind the window. For a fraction of second his face was a display of undisguised surprise.

"I hate sweets, Potter," he finally said, holding Harry's gaze.

"Okay ... just make one exception. Try the chocolate ones, they are delicious."

The Dark Lord said nothing to that and the youngster was just about to draw his arm back when Voldemort's hand fluently rose, slipped into the bag and fished out two pieces of delicate biscuits. It wasn't until he bit down on it when their eyes went separate ways and Harry once again felt his heart in the throat.

What was wrong with him? Maybe Voldemort shouldn't constantly show him the fraction of his humanity as it was something Harry was not prepared to see. Until a week ago the young hero thought he knew this man to the deepest corners of his twisted being. He just started to realize how wrong he was in this assumption.

Suddenly he couldn't wait for the ride to be over and leaned forward to ask Daniel how far they were from London.

"We're at the suburb so I guess twenty minutes at most," Daniel replied and added, "It also depends what exactly is your destination."

"Eh ... somewhere near the city centre?" Harry suggested. It wouldn't be very wise if he said Grimmauld Place 12 before the Dark Lord. He turned to look at Voldemort who said nothing. Harry took it as an approval of his suggestion.

"Harry, you know that's not very specific..."

"What about the King's Cross?" Harry butted in. He could take a taxi from there and Voldemort would know nothing.

"You mean the train station?" Daniel sounded a little surprised, but Harry nodded vehemently. The doctor looked into the rear minor and met Harry's determined expression.

"Okay," he finally nodded and drummed his fingers against the steering wheel as their car stopped before traffic lights.

The rain was damping out and Harry looked out to admire Christmas decorations on the buildings around them. Daniel had to be watching the same as he suddenly asked.

"Tell me, Harry, how are you going to spend Christmas?"

"With my friends, of course," the raven haired young man replied immediately. "I'm really looking forward to it, though I don't have any presents for them yet..."

"That's nice, but ... you won't be seeing your family?"

Harry bit his lip as the question stung him a little. He turned to look at Voldemort who ostentatiously ignored them.

"My friends are my only family. My parents ... are dead and I don't get along very well with my aunt and uncle...," he finally said.

Daniel gasped, turned around quickly and missed the traffic lights which switched to green.

"Harry ... I'm sorry ... I didn't have an idea..."

Horns of the cars in the row behind them reminded him that they still were in the middle of the intersection. He quickly turned his attention back to driving.

"I'm sorry I asked," the doctor muttered a moment later.

"It's all right Daniel, none of that is your fault," Harry said quietly, his eyes burning holes into his silent companion.

Mr. Rodgers in an attempt to improve the mood turned his attention to the ill-tempered Dark Lord.

"And what about you, Mr. Moore? Do you have any plans for Christmas?"

Riddle tried to ignore the question, but as Harry continued to glower at him, he hissed through gritted teeth.

"I do not celebrate Christmas."

"Never?" Daniel asked in amazement and glanced in the rear mirror as if looking for confirmation it the man's rigid face.

Riddle remained quiet.

"Why?" Harry asked lowly as his anger gradually vanished.

"Why should I?" the Dark Lord countered with his freezing voice and the youngster looked away.

"Right, you don't care about anyone. You don't have a reason."

Harry couldn't see Voldemort's mouth open as he wanted to say something more. He didn't see his lips seal again, the words were left unspoken in order to let the silence grow to hardly bearable level.

"Stop here," Riddle broke the tension with his cold order and Harry who didn't expect this looked at him in surprise.

Voldemort wanted to get out of the car? Was it only because of that stupid argument? Harry couldn't tell the reason.

"We are still quite far from...," Daniel began, but Riddle leaned forward and repeated once more.

"I said stop."

Harry watched him wordlessly, while Daniel drove the car to the roadside.

When during several long seconds no one spoke, Harry coughed nervously.

"So," he began, "this is it. Well then..."

"Get out of the car, Potter," Riddle cut him off. Harry's eyes bulged a little as he glanced at the Dark Lord in disbelief.

"Why should I..." Harry began; however Riddle's commanding glare made any protests die on his lips. That was bad, Harry thought as he climbed out of the car, asking Daniel to wait for him. The Dark Lord followed him only a moment later.

"You may not celebrate it, still I wish you Merry Christmas, Mr. Moore," Daniel said to the dark wizard. "Goodbye."

Harry heard part of it from outside, mildly curious about his enemy's response.

Voldemort slowly turned his head to the doctor, corners of his seemingly lipless mouth curling upward.

"You served me well, muggle. Consider yourself in favor of Lord Voldemort." And with this statement, which certainly confused poor doctor to no end, he left the car and slammed the door close.

"Concerning you, Potter," Voldemort continued, looking down at The-Boy-Who-Lived from his considerable height advantage, "I'm aware that some things which happened between us cannot be undone."

Harry tried to keep up with what the Dark Lord had been saying, but he felt too distracted by his surroundings. With so many pedestrians passing them, traffic jam growing, soft drizzle falling from the sky and quiet rumble of Daniel's car, it was hard to believe that Voldemort would choose this moment to come with some kind of truce or something. Once again he felt as if he were dreaming. If it was a nightmare, he couldn't tell yet.

"What is it you want from me?" the youngster finally asked as he noticed how long Voldemort pondered to express himself the best.

Those blood red eyes met his own as many times before. As Voldemort spoke, his voice didn't sound so cold anymore.

"I admit I've been overly obsessed with the Prophecy. It was ... a mistake. During last week I realized that you may be very valuable for me."

Harry's breath ran short. He couldn't believe what Voldemort was trying to imply.

"Come with me, Potter. With you by my side I'm sure no one can stop me. Not even ... Negura."

This wasn't happening. This simply couldn't be happening! They were still enemies, RIGHT? Harry's mind shattered in shock. Voldemort was definitely bluffing. Any moment now he starts to cackle evilly, pitying Harry's low intelligence for being willing to believe him even for a second. Only Voldemort didn't start to laugh, his face merely displayed growing impatience.

"Hell, NO!" Harry finally screamed horrified. "How could you think that I would ... that I would ever..."

Voldemort cat-like eyes narrowed and he covered his head with a black cape.

"I see," he hissed quietly.

"Then I suggest you to stay away from me, Potter. As long as you avoid me, you shall be _safe_."

Harry breathed heavily, unable to tear his eyes off his – as he still believed - archenemy. He couldn't believe that Voldemort really asked him to join the Death Eaters.

He couldn't think clearly now. He didn't have a time to sort his thoughts as Daniel was still here, waiting for long minutes. It slowly started to be impolite.

"I must be going," he said quickly. "Stay away from my friends and I swear I'll avoid you."

He reached for the handle, yet Voldemort stopped him by pressing his large hand against the car door.

"What else?" Harry asked, growing more and more nervous. The Dark Lord grimaced; he even gritted his teeth. He seemed to be trying to say something aloud. Harry had no idea why Riddle suddenly showed such of emotional strain. It took only few moments, though. Voldemort ultimately stepped backward and looked away. Whatever he wanted to say remained once again unspoken.

"Begone Potter," he uttered and his cold voice was once again completely detached.

And Harry listened to him for once without saying another word, he returned to the car and even when they were slowly driving away, he couldn't tore his eyes off that motionless dark clad figure until he gradually disappeared from his sight.

He had never felt so confused before.

_**R&R**_


	28. Homecoming

**Author's note: **Hello, I'm back again with another chapter. I'm always very happy to get a positive response to my story, because I see that people really read this and that they like it, which is a great motivation for me to continue. So I will take a liberty to personally thank to: **Gemini Perevell**, **silvia8917**, **Anneka Neko**, **xXloveangelsXx**, **LCM DoePatronus**, **sihani**, **Mylarvamp**, **Windforce**, **yellow14**, **Miriette**, **spoonring**, **flyei**, **FlOMerz**, **anoni**, **astrallumiere**, **Madd Girl** and also to everyone who reviewed the previous chapters. Thanks a lot. I would be absolutely happy if you reviewed this chapter as well.

A special note to Mylarvamp: Yeah, life is very frustrating. Don't let this disappoint you. By the way, I'm glad you've noticed their 'suffering'. ;-)

**Homecoming**

_Finsbury Circus__, London_

_23__rd__ December 2000, 10:40_

It has become a very tiresome routine to wake up in the same bed every morning, prepare the same black tea for a breakfast and sit in the same creaky chair in a kitchen corner while reading the (same) Daily Prophet. Alecto Carrow suppressed a yawn as she browsed through the newest release lying unfolded in her lap. It read ridiculous things – the sheet was openly trying to ridicule intelligence of the readers. The Dark Lord and Harry Potter were missing, there was a huge upheaval going on at the Ministry, a half of Azkaban prisoners was slaughtered and all Rita Skeeter prattled about was how to deal with that completely unfathomable emigration of magicians out of the country.

However, to be absolutely honest, Alecto didn't find this situation _that _bothering. She didn't care about other people's worries, nor was she interested in a dreadful fate of Azkaban's prisoners. She didn't really feel like joining Avery, Travers and others for those vindictive raids on behalf of their fallen comrades. The only thing which she cared about and which made her slightly anxious was her brother, who left the base along with them.

Even though the Dark Lord's last order was to stay put.

In the end it was only she and Selwyn who (according to their Master's wish) did not infringe upon the current development.

It would be against her nature to disobey a direct order. She enjoyed serving the Dark Lord and she was going to fulfill his will the best she could. That was what she repeated to herself while she continued to skim the pages impartially.

If only it wasn't so mind-numbing to sit here and doing nothing! It would be so perfect if she could just go outside, torture few muggles for fun or kill some Mudbloods...

She closed her eyes and listened to the weak sounds of traffic penetrating through the thick walls. Just a thought of muggles - the filth contentedly existing in the Dark Lord's neighborhood - was driving her mad. She hated them all, those bumptious worms blind to their own worthlessness, living in a ridiculous illusion of power and control. How could the Dark Lord choose this place for his residence? She understood his desire to leave Malfoy Manor, the nest of traitors (she was aware of Draco's plotting to become one of Umbridge's confidants – it disgusted her how openly he renounced the Dark Lord to stick his head up the Leader's ass – or whatever the reason was behind his desertion), but why to live here? It was close to the Ministry, that's true. Also, no one would ever expect _him_ to choose this place for his residence (when she found it very unlikely by herself) but how could _he_ stand living in a muggle district, when it drove _her_ crazy?

Preposterous.

Still, who she was to judge decisions of the Dark Lord anyway?

"Morning, Alecto."

She looked up to see Selwyn leaning against the doorframe, sipping from a steaming cup of coffee.

Seeing him doing that disgusting muggle habit always irked her to no end.

"Selwyn," she replied acidly, rolled the paper in her lap and put it aside. "I'm fairly surprised to see you here. I thought that you too planned to join 'the avengers'. Or have you ultimately decided that listening to the Dark Lord's order was a wiser choice?"

"Tche. Why do you care so much about my decisions, Alecto? But if you need to know it so much, I didn't go because I don't have anyone to avenge. I don't remember any of them feeling the slightest concern for me when I needed their help."

He took another sip and smirked.

"Moreover, I don't have a silly brother, who's decided to go against the Dark Lord's order, do I?"

Alecto's cheeks turned pink in anger.

"I told Amycus that if he leaves he may not be allowed to return, but he didn't listen. Whatever happened to him from that moment on is his problem, not mine." As she spoke, she slowly rose to her feet. "I am concerned for his well-being, yes, but it's not my priority. You may have not noticed it at all, but I'm not like him. I've always wanted something more. How could I ever dream of becoming the Dark Lord's most trusted if I wouldn't be able to follow his most simple orders? If I betrayed him like Malfoys who chose to save their family instead of _him_?" she strained through her gritted teeth.

Her companion snorted scornfully before speaking quietly, cuttingly.

"Stop speaking like Bellatrix, Alecto. It doesn't suit you," he said. "And don't think that I don't know what you want. The dominion of Malfoys and Lestranges is over and you see your opening. Bellatrix was making it difficult for you, but since she's dead you're acting more and more like her to become the Dark Lord's favorite. Is it because you feel a chance as the only female Death Eater alive at the moment?"

Alecto pursed her lips maliciously.

"What if I feel a chance? Envious, Selwyn?"

"Hardly," he snorted and took another sip of the hot beverage. "Just let me remind you that Bellatrix had never succeeded. What makes you think you will?"

"I don't want to succeed the way she wanted. I merely want our Master's favor. We were mistrusted and unimportant for a long time. It's time to change that!"

"By sitting here and not searching for him," he smirked again and she scowled back.

"I don't see you search for him either! Besides, the Dark Mark is almost black now. I'm sure he'll be back soon with Potter's head as a souvenir."

Selwyn said nothing to that. He looked up, came closer to a smudged window and opened his mouth to speak when a sudden noise distracted them both.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

A momentary confusion appeared on their faces.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

"Is someone knocking on the door?" Alecto asked slowly (and not very brightly) as they kept on staring at each other.

"Well, it looks that way," Selwyn jeered.

"But ... but that's impossible!" she sputtered. The Death Eaters were using their wands to come in and muggles couldn't see the entrance because of muggle repelling charms she personally placed around the building at the Dark Lord's command.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Selwyn chuckled.

"You should go outside and ask what that poor muggle wants."

She seethed inwardly. Selwyn was openly mocking her ability to perform such a primitive charm correctly! She pressed her lips together and her wand flew up, pointing at his chest.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

A murderous intention appeared in her eyes when whoever stood at the door had no intention to leave.

"You shall not kill that muggle, if you don't want Aurors to be investigating his or her murder in the Dark Lord's residence," Selwyn continued to mock her, keeping his calm.

She couldn't endure his jeers anymore.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

She raced down the hallway and reached the entrance in seconds and in her fury she completely ignored an option to look outside through an eyelet. The massive oak door flung open with a simple flick of her wand and she screamed at the person standing before her.

"GET LOST YOU MUGGLE SCUM OR I...!"

Her breath froze in her chest and her heart stopped right away. All senses ceased to exist except her vision.

A tall, emaciated, dark clad person surpassing her height by a foot and half was glaring at her. His flat face was paler than snow; black pupils of his blood red eyes were narrowed into tiniest slits.

"Muggle ... scum?" whispered his cold, eerie voice which made her knees buckle. Her legs couldn't support her weight anymore and she sank to her knees, bowing her head.

She just insulted her Master. She was going to die.

"M... M... My ... Lord..." she stuttered through her constricted throat.

"This is how you welcome me back, Alecto?" His voice turned even colder, if possible.

"M ... M ... My Lord ... I ... I haven't ... realized..."

Why was she still alive? It cost him only two words to finish it. Unless he wanted to torture her first.

"Give me your wand," he ordered tonelessly, not a single facial muscle moving on his face.

He required her wand? He wanted to kill her using her own wand? Alecto gulped idly many times over as she hesitantly raised her trembling hand, giving up her only protection.

"Please ... _please _... My Lord ... I beg you ..."

He took it wordlessly, his fingers curled around it straight away and then she was threw against the wall on the other end of the entrance hall. The door slammed close behind him as he leisurely strolled towards her trembling figure on the floor.

"Good," he whispered. _"Crucio!"_

*****

He was freezing cold and there was hardly any other feeling he hated more than this one. In addition, he had to walk back to his residence by foot which made him extremely irritated. He had to endure curious gazes of muggles which followed him nearly everywhere. By the time he reached Finsbury Circus, he was annoyed to the deepest core of his spoiled being. And then one of his own followers insulted him right in the face.

He tried to hold the Cruciatus Curse a little longer, waiting for the pleasure to come as he watched her body writhe in bone breaking spasms.

But he didn't feel anything beside remnants of irritation. Her screech was earsplitting and not worth him suffering it. Moreover, her wand felt uncomfortable in his hand and he had to force his magic through it, not simply let it flow and enjoy it.

He lifted the curse, watching her body twitch as she gasped and sobbed.

When he stepped closer, he heard her breath hitch in pure terror. Her huge, blank eyes were watching him fearfully, giving her face an expression of helplessness and despair.

He used to _love_ seeing his victims like that.

Why he felt no amusement now, he had no idea. It was as if someone stole all the little pleasures which usually made his day. Suppressing a hiss of frustration he leaned down to her and spoke.

"You may come to retrieve your wand once you find the courage."

His whisper seemed soft, though deep inside his anger restlessly boiled. There was only one thing which could make him feel better now. The thing that lay concealed in a small ebony box in his chambers. All he had to do was go upstairs and take it.

Determined, he left the miserable witch crawling on the floor and hurried upstairs, taking three steps at once in rush.

Another cloaked person appeared before him, kneeling and stammering his greeting. Impatient to reach the destination he only let out a harsh order.

"Out of my way, Selwyn."

"Of course My Lord," the wizard muttered and moved aside, looking up hopefully.

"My Lord," Selwyn began as he was passing him. "May I be so impertinent to ask ... if ... if Potter is finally...?"

It made him halt. Just hearing that name made him stop, stealing his breath from lungs.

A vision of messy black hair, deep green eyes and slightly tanned hot skin flashed before his eyes.

"Potter," he breathed out spontaneously.

His healthy fingers grasped the front of his robes as he was trying to suppress a sudden shiver running down his spine. How could he feel so empty a moment ago when now ... now...

"My Lord?" Selwyn asked in a humble, yet slightly worried voice.

"Later," he managed to retort sharply as he finally freed himself from that momentary distraction and resumed his speedy pace.

His chambers were just the same, practically no difference since the evening he left. Everything was untouched, even the burn-out candles weren't replaced. He was so sure of his early homecoming at the time of his departure that he didn't even bother to snuff them out. As always, he didn't doubt his triumph over The-Boy-Who-Lived in the slightest. As always, he was absurdly reckless...

He cursed quietly and drew out a small black box from a cache behind his work table, letting go of Alecto's wand in the process, making it clatter and roll over the smooth surface of the desk. Filled with impatience he quickly hissed.

"_**Open.**__**"**_

The lid clicked softly and revealed one of his dearest treasures. His yew wand lay there, looking innocent and harmless against the black satin. As his fingers greedily grasped it, he felt a strong, pleasurable surge of power running through his hand, arm, gradually filling his body. Even the wand shivered in response to their reunion.

"Finally," he breathed out in relief and clutched the smooth wood.

It cost him only two seconds to get rid of that ridiculous plaster concealing his left arm and another five to heal shattered bones.

Easy. Simple. Healing the residues of internal injuries was probably going to take a little longer, yet he already felt ready to fight.

"And now you can come for me Negura," he hissed, caressing the wand. "I'll gladly show you how much I've learned during past forty years!"

His fingers gently traced edges of the warm wood.

"I don't need Potter's luck to deal with a despicable traitor like you. Lord Voldemort, the greatest wizard of all, doesn't need a help of that brat! He refused ... my offer ... after all."

His tall body slowly slumped into his wide, comfortable armchair. He tried very hard not to think about the last discussion with that boy. Instead, he focused on the perfect normality of his surroundings. Maybe, if he absorbed this constancy long enough, he would ultimately start to believe that nothing changed.

Maybe he would have even convinced himself that Potter had never saved his life.

He already spent hours pondering about the absurdity of it, yet no portion of time could substantially diminish his astonishment and disbelief.

Could he ever go back to his old self and hate Potter like before?

Maybe he could if he tried very hard to forget this all, but did he want to?

He never needed anyone to help him; he had always been too cautious to avoid risk of death as much as he could. He succeeded many times before this horrendous failure, which _naturally_ happened in Potter's presence.

Without a doubt, if it weren't of that brat he would be... he would surely be...

Why did Potter have to carry him for _miles_ when he was also very close to death? That made no sense at all. The brat was babbling something about an obligation he felt after being rescued. Rubbish! Didn't he make it clear that he pulled Potter out of that freezing bathe only to keep himself alive? There was no need to feel any form of commitment!

They were mortal enemies for Salazar's sake! Potter was prophesized to defeat him! He had an unbelievable chance to get rid of him by simply letting him die the most derogatory death possible, nonetheless the idiot decided to save him!

But ... Potter didn't care about the prophecy. He told him so. He preferred his instincts over rationality, not caring about mistakes he made as long as his decision wasn't in conflict with his heart's desires.

How many times he mocked the brat's weaknesses? How many times he laughed at the foolishness of his actions? How very predictable fool his fragile heart made him!

And yet, if it wasn't of Potter's pitiful emotions, he wouldn't be sitting here... He, the greatest wizard of all, would succumb to the biggest weakness of all – his own irrevocable death.

An involuntary roar of fury escaped his lips and he sagged deeper in the armchair, digging his shortened claws in his scull.

What was he supposed to do? How could he possibly find answers and make some plans with that emotional tumult in his head? How was he supposed to deal with that unwanted, pinioning gratefulness which felt like acid corroding his intestines? And what was worse – he clearly recalled several totally confusing and inexplicable moments when he was around Potter and everything was suddenly _different_, his hatred was crumbling, his determination to crush that susceptive moron fading away.

In these moments his behavior was utterly inadmissible and yet he had no idea why was he acting so strangely.

Ultimately, he came to a decision. He will use his old Pensieve to look at his memories from a different point of view. He preferred not to do this very often as the risk of someone else seeing them by chance was too upsetting.

Nevertheless, he didn't seem to have another option at the moment.

He leaned forward to get up when something very sharp and spiky suddenly cut the soft skin of his right thigh. He hissed at the severe pain and tucked up his robes in haste to reach the trouser pocket, where the torturous object was hidden. And then, with a dawning realization, he slowly pulled out ... Potter's broken spectacle frame. There was one last splinter of glass still attached to the deformed metal rim. Its tip was colored with his fresh blood – a nasty reminder of his current injury.

Slightly incredulous he placed 'the victorious booty' - as he once called it - on the desk before him.

It was rare of him to forget about something he stole, especially when that thing was _Potter's spectacles_. He carefully touched the damaged frame and instantly recalled stepping on it, hearing the glass shatter. Back there, he couldn't get greater satisfaction than crippling the boy in return for what he had done to him, yet now he felt nothing beside dull, hollow consternation.

As he gazed at the smashed article blankly, the sun suddenly appeared between heavy clouds and several golden rays brushed past dark green curtains covering a narrow window, invading the murky room. The flare landed directly on the broken item and the small splinter of glass immediately refracted incoming light, creating a shimmering sun-bow.

The Dark Lord was silent for a moment, simply watching the show.

"Those glasses are just like you, Potter," he whispered a moment later. "No matter how much I tried to break them, they still shine."

The brightness coming from the piece of glass intensified, silently confirming his words.

"It was foolish of me to try to destroy them. They're a part of you, just like that scar I gave you ... I sort of miss..." The feeling of warmth spreading over his chest at the thought of that impudent young man made him halt his monologue, leaving some mortifying words unspoken.

He shouldn't feel this way. It was unbecoming, undignified and _dangerous_.

How could this be even happening? He crushed his humanity many decades ago!

So what was the meaning of that? Could he suffer from some undetected brain damage which made him perceive things differently? He was after all very close to death few days ago...

Or was it because Negura was back, bringing along all the painful, long-forgotten memories of his most guarded weakness?

Could it be that he's been bound to his corporeal existence for a too long time? Since the moment his last Horcrux, Naginy, was killed, he was forced to eat, drink and sleep like anyone else and it made him overly human...

Or maybe Potter's insolence, naivety, courage, tenacity and indestructible innocence were affecting him more than he thought...

Oh yes, with the brat's face before his eyes he once again felt...

A screeching sound of his nails against the polished desk was a welcomed distraction. He did it again and again to stop that offensive torrent of thoughts and feelings.

He must stop dwelling on those treacherous emotions! It was not like him to care about feelings at all!

"Potter," he hissed, irritated. "What in the Salazar's name have you done to me?"

*****

_King's Cross Station, London_

_23__rd__ December 2000, 10:20_

"We're here."

The car finally stopped and Daniel turned to him, regarding him closely. The small wrinkles on his forehead only emphasized worriment written in his face. Harry was sure that the doctor's current state of mind had everything to do with his last talk with Voldemort. If he didn't feel like he owed Mr. Rodgers some explanation he would chose not to elaborate on the topic. After all, he also spent the rest of the ride thinking of Riddle's strange behavior. He would prefer not to voice his thoughts aloud.

"Daniel," he spoke hesitantly, "you know ... about Riddle ... eh! ... I mean Mr. Moore ... I would like to say that..."

"Harry."

The young man looked up and met doctor's kind brown eyes.

"Somehow, I think it would be better if you didn't try to explain it."

Harry slowly breathed out. Daniel might have been incredibly naive sometimes, but now he was very, very apprehensive.

"Thanks," he said quietly.

"Still, there's something I'd like to tell you," the doctor admitted and Harry instantly thought about getting an unasked-for parental advice.

"I want you to know that I understand why you said that Walter is not your friend. I even understand why my daughter was so scared of him. If I could openly say my opinion, I was scared too ... a bit. Whatever I said about tolerance to other people's differences I really meant it. Still, it doesn't mean that I considered Mr. Moore absolutely _normal._ And I'm not only talking about the way he looked like. I tried to remain unbiased for the time he spent with us, but it was very difficult. So, Harry, if you ever meet hit again ... please ... be careful."

It really sounded like father's advice, nevertheless Harry accepted it. He slowly nodded and took a deep breath. He might have not wanted to talk about that, but there was something he needed to say as well.

"I will, don't worry. Just ... no matter what you think of me or him right now, I want you to know that I would never let him do anything wrong to you or your family. Never."

Daniel chuckled and shook his head.

"No need to exaggerate, nothing bad happened. Besides, I think that you're a great person and honestly, I really regret that this is our goodbye. If you ever visit Crowborough again, come down and see us, okay?"

Maybe it was a good thing that even over his suspicion, Daniel never stopped to think the best of him. Once again, Harry was presented a miracle of muggle kindness and he was really grateful for that.

"Yeah, I'll keep that in mind," he whispered, took the doctor's offered hand and shook it. "Thanks for everything."

"Goodbye, Harry. Merry Christmas."

"Marry Christmas, Daniel," Harry smiled for the last time and climbed out of the car, waving goodbye to him until his white sedan joined the slow flow of traffic.

And then he was gone.

It left him with a strange feeling of loneliness as he stood in front of the King's Cross porch, watching the passing cars and hurrying passengers carrying their heavy luggage. Suddenly, he would do anything to return to his adolescent years. He wished he could get on the Hogwarts Express again and feel the same excitement as the first time when he saw the scarlet steam engine. He wouldn't even mind to be coming back from the school, looking over the parking lot, searching if the Dursleys were waiting for him. He would be secretly ensuring himself that two months later he would be here again, ready to get on the train and face new adventures.

None of that was true anymore. The adventures he had to face now were of a different nature. Harry suppressed a quiet sigh and slowly set out for the Grimmauld Place.

He was twenty and he was still alive, which most of wizards and witches considered as a miracle itself. So he _should be_ happy that he survived yet another encounter with the Dark Lord, regardless the fact that he didn't feel like a winner. It was more like he lost something precious today and he simply couldn't put a name to it. He didn't even try.

*****

_Grimmauld Place 12__, London_

_23__rd__ December 2000, 10:35_

"I don't think that was a good idea," Ron muttered, glaring at a small blue vase before him as if the piece of porcelain caused him some personal offence.

Hermione, sitting across from him on the other side of a working table, merely looked up for a second before her eyes returned to _A History of Magical Arts in Eastern Europe_.

"I should have gone instead of him."

Hermione's attention returned to a bloody history of Romanian Wizarding world. She was reading it very carefully with slightly furrowed eyebrows.

"That was definitely a bad idea," Ron grunted again.

She sighed, forcing her eyes to remain on the text.

"Really, really bad idea."

The cup of her patience was already filled to a brim. She closed the book loudly and raised her head.

"Keep it down, Ron. Nothing's going to happen to him. We all know that Percy's the best for the task, so would you please relax and be quiet for a moment?"

"It's not your brother, Hermione!" Ron protested, rubbing his palms restlessly. "What if something happens to him? I would never forgive this to myself..."

The young witch resignedly put the book on the desk, regarding her boyfriend with a funny mix of irritation and sympathy.

"He'll be all right, you'll see. I understand your worries, but we must deal with the situation rationally. Vampires are active only in night hours and Percy is wise enough to leave the Ministry before the nightfall. He's doing nothing suspicious. He only went to apply for a job in the Ministry Office. Umbridge still trusts him; they worked together under the same leadership for quite a long time. If he gets that post, we'll obtain a very reliable source directly from Umbridge's office. Besides, I'm sure Percy is very well aware of the risk."

Ron shook his head and approached the narrow window.

"I know, I know ... but it doesn't make me feel any better. Because I still have to think about ... Fred ... and then Harry ... and I..."

He pressed his clenched fist to his mouth to hold back a cry of frustration at a loss of his dear persons.

Hermione immediately got up from her seat, came around the table and took him in her arms. They held each other for a moment, before she said.

"We must not give up on Harry yet. It's difficult when we don't know anything about him, but we must not stop hoping."

He nodded, treading his fingers through her hair.

"I guess you're right. What are you reading anyway?" he asked to change the topic.

"Oh," she said, extracting herself from his hold. "I borrowed this book from the Hogwarts library. I'm still trying to find some connection between the author of the letter we found in the Leader's apartment and Voldemort. I've researched every important Romanian wizard and witch of the twentieth century, anyone who could have met Voldemort, but nothing. There's no proof that Voldemort ever visited Romania and if some Romanian wizard or witch contacted him for whatever purpose, there's no mention of it in this book. I was really hoping to get some clue and I failed..."

If there was something Hermione couldn't stand, then it was her failure. She had a theory, but she couldn't support it with facts. She could think that the Leader was a Romanian wizard, who was a long-time enemy of the Dark Lord and who tried to destroy him by tearing apart his Horcrux, however without evidence she had nothing.

The only thing to rely on were her instincts, which told her that she didn't like that Umbridge's highest advisor no matter whether he was or wasn't Voldemort's enemy.

That's why they needed Percy's help to learn more about him.

"So, you've found nothing at all?" Ron asked, slightly disappointed, bringing her out of her muse.

"I've found something, Ron," she opposed halfheartedly, "only it makes no sense." She pulled out her small notebook from a drawer and browsed it quickly.

"I was looking for those DLN initials and I've found twenty one entries in total. The problem is that the last entry is from 1910, mentioning a death of Decebal L. Niculescu – he was a famous muggleborn chronicler if you don't know. Not exactly the person we are looking for, plus he died sixteen years before Voldemort was born."

Hermione slumped down the chair, skimming her notes.

"So it had to be someone substantially older than Voldemort..."

"Don't say his name," Ron moaned, but Hermione continued without interruption.

"...or someone who wasn't famous enough to be mentioned it this book. But, it's hard to believe that a magician powerful enough to cause _You-Know-Who_ such harm would be this unimportant. Therefore, I focused on the older wizards and witches and looked up every name with these initials listed in the nineteenth century. Some of these magicians are still very likely to be alive."

She pulled out a small yellow card and started to read.

"From a total number of seven entries two of them were historians, one was a novel writer, the other was a composer and the last three were members of powerful adversary clans participating in a conflict which nearly led to a civil war. I can't tell it for sure, but I don't think it was any of them."

Ron took a seat by the table and propped his chin against his folded hands.

"What if that DLN means something else?"

Hermione stopped listing through her notes and looked at him curiously.

"Like what?" she asked.

"I don't know...," Ron shrugged his shoulders.

"Ron," she said slowly, "it has to mean something Voldemort would understand. From the content of the letter I don't think that the author wanted to be unrecognized."

"Don't say..."

"I'm sure that the initials are true. I just don't know who they belong to ... yet."

She opened the voluminous book again, browsing through the events of sixteenth and seventeenth century.

"Well, here are some interesting names. Dorin Nistor, a descendant of a wealthy wizarding family who tried to use his influence to oppress muggleborns. He was suspected from performing forbidden Dark Arts. If he lived few hundred years later, he would certainly compete with Voldemort. Or here, look," she said and pressed her finger to another name on the next page.

"Dragomir Negura. He was born three hundred and seventy years ago and he was one of the most famous Romanian Aurors of his time. He managed to defeat Alcander the Atrocious, the worst dark wizard of seventeenth century, in a duel. He was only twenty years old at that time. You see ... Harry's not alone."

Ron perked up a little.

"Really? How did he do that?"

"It's not written here. The article only says that he died several months later, shortly after his family was slaughtered by Alcander's rabid followers. It is unknown whether he committed suicide or was murdered as well."

Ron's face paled into slightly unhealthy shade.

"That's ... really gruesome."

"Absolutely. It's horrendous to read about that and knowing that he was not the only one. Loads of people faced similar dreadful fate in the past. And the worst thing is that none of their suffering is going to help us."

"It's so depressing to..."

Whatever Ron wanted to say was outvoiced by his mother's call.

"Ron, Hermione! Could you go down for a minute?"

They looked at each other in surprise. What was going on? It was too early for a lunch, Kingsley and Neville were out to meet the incoming members of the Order, the house was nearly empty, so what could possibly happen?

"We're coming, mom!" Ron called and helped Hermione on feet.

"Snake," Hermione mouthed her suspicion concerning Molly's immoderate fear of reptiles, which of course Ron couldn't ignore and resolutely started to defend her mother's phobias. He continued to rant all the way downstairs, before another, loud, cheerful and absolutely unexpected voice interrupted them.

"Hi guys!"

*****

_Grimmauld Place 12__, London_

_23__rd__ December 2000, 10:55_

_So this is it__, I'm here,_ Harry thought as he stood before the battered door he once doubted he would ever see again. Just few knocks separated him from seeing his friends again. He was so filled with impatience and yet he gave himself another second to relish in this moment. After that short hesitation he finally took a hold of the silver doorknocker.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

The hollow sound loudly resonated though the door-frame.

Harry patiently waited for a couple of seconds, listening to any sounds coming from inside.

Just as he lifted his hand to repeat the process, a shuffling sound announced that someone was coming. The lock clicked several times and the door slowly opened.

"You're already back, Percy? Did something bad happen...?"

Kind, round face of Molly Weasley appeared in the gap and Harry had to hold back the urge to leap forward and squeeze her in embrace.

It was really comical to watch the change of her facial expression in the moment she recognized him. Harry would have certainly laughed on any other occasion. But he couldn't now. It may sound absurd, but he was too happy to be happy.

"Mrs. Weasley," he said quietly, corners of his lips tugging upward.

Her mouth opened and closed several times as if she was trying to imitate a fish.

"Molly, is everything all right, dear?" a deeper voice of Arthur Weasley could be heard from beneath the door and the following moment he appeared by her side, instantly looking as incredulous as she.

"Mr. Weasley, it's good to see you too," Harry whispered, feeling a bit silly for being subdued to their super intense stares.

A wand pointed directly at his forehead cooled his enthusiasm a bit.

"Who are you?" Arthur asked coldly.

"Harry Potter?" Harry tried, his confidence crumbling away.

"Give us your wand, dear," Molly said unsure. Still she used far more pleasant tone than Mr. Weasley, who still eyed him suspiciously.

Harry naturally understood their fears.

"Oh, damn. I can't, I'm sorry. That bastard – I mean Voldemort – disarmed me. But, trust me; I'm not a masked Death Eater. Besides, can you imagine any Voldemort's bootlicker coming here with this handicap," he pointed at his plastered leg, "and without a wand?"

Arthur and Molly still stared at him in disbelief.

"Ask me something if you don't believe me," Harry urged then as he saw their indecision.

"Well ... err ...what you bought Ron for the last Christmas?" Arthur finally whispered and Harry couldn't hold back a chuckle.

"It was Nimbus 2005, but please, don't tell him, okay? I'm glad he doesn't know. It was so much fun seeing him trying to find out who..."

And then he nearly disappeared in Molly's arms which clutched at him almost desperately, while she was half crying and half laughing, scolding him as if he was just a small, disobedient child. Arthur somehow manoeuvred them inside and after several minutes of hugging and crying on Molly's side Harry finally managed to ask.

"Where are Ron and Hermione?"

"Upstairs," Arthur said, now fully smiling, just like his wife. "I'll go and tell them that you're here."

"No, no - I'll do it," Molly quickly said, hurrying towards the staircase.

"Ron, Hermione! Could you go down for a minute?" she shouted rather loudly. One would expect that Sirius' mother would wake up and shriek at them, but Harry knew she couldn't hear them since George successfully managed to enchant the veil covering her painting with a Silencing Charm. This way, the only voice which responded was Ron's deep baritone.

"We're coming, mom!"

Harry's heart jumped up in his chest just from hearing his best friend's voice. He heard them rush downstairs; the creaking sounds of the stairs were accompanied by their loud voices, signalling that one of their endless quarrels was up. It made him smile without realizing.

And then he saw them. During those horrendous moments when he was imprisoned in the cave, the last thing which kept him from insanity was a vision of their laughing faces. Even when he was dying, he thought of them. They were the last people he saw when he closed his eyes and they would be the last people he would be thinking of if he had died ... if Voldemort didn't save him back there... Harry quickly pushed these thoughts out of his head and let his happiness imbue his words as he called out.

"Hi guys!"

Their reaction was even more intense than Molly's was. The first several seconds they just stared agape, completely unable to comprehend who they saw.

Hermione woke up first. She screamed out something which was supposed to be his name and before he could even think of some reaction his face disappeared in a flood of her curly brown hair. She hugged him and clutched at him twice as much as Mrs. Weasley did. So much that Harry's lungs had a serious problem to take in some breath. Then she released him, looked at his face, muttered something again and embraced him with the same force as before.

"Hermione, for Merlin's sake let him breathe! He's so skinny that you'll crush his bones!"

Harry heard Ron's complaint over that buzz in his ears and he was actually happy when she listened to him and gradually released him from her usually weak arms.

"HARRY POTTER! WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN!" she finally screamed out something what made sense. Her pretty face turned into a lovely shade of purple, her cheeks were drenched from hot tears which were rolling towards her shaking chin.

Harry didn't know how to begin. He didn't know what to say.

"We were worried about you, mate," Ron muttered, obviously still amazed and totally happy as everyone else around him.

"No, Ron, we weren't worried. We were totally SCARED for you ... you hotheaded, inconsiderate FOOL!"

Harry bit his lip, embarrassed. So that was how it felt when Hermione's anger was aimed at him.

"YOU JUST LEFT US WITH THAT RIDICULOUS SHEET AS IF WE WANTED SOME STUPID MORONIC GOODBYE LETTER! WHAT DID YOU THINK WHEN YOU WERE WRITING THAT ... TRASH...! HOW COULD YOU...!"

Even Hermione run out of a breath sometimes and this was the case.

"It's okay, Hermione, let it be...," Ron tried to cool down her rage a little.

"NO! I WON'T LET IT BE! AFTER ALL THE HORRORS WE WENT THROUGH TOGETHER HOW COULD HE DO THAT TO US?-! DID IT CROSS HIS MIND HOW WE FELT WHEN WE WERE READING THOSE LINES?-!" she screamed at her petrified boyfriend and before he could say a word of protest she spun around and hurled at Harry. "AND YOU ...YOU... I thought - I really thought that you gave up! I really started to believe that you're DEAD!"

She slammed her fist into his chest and all Harry could produce was a painful moan.

"Ow! Sorry! Sorry! I'm really sorry, Hermione. I was drunk when I wrote it. It was stupid of me."

Hermione sniffed and murmured something which suspiciously sounded like 'idiot.' Even over her feverish exterior, Harry knew that deep inside she was immensely happy and relieved to see him alive.

"I swear I'll never do such a brainless thing again, okay?" Harry tried to console her.

"You'd better...," she gritted through her teeth, however laid her forehead against his shoulder as she hugged him again and then finally stepped aside so Ron could welcome him back as well, smiling at him and patting his shoulder.

Once Hermione stopped screaming at him, began to Harry feel at ease. Everything suddenly seemed to be perfectly fine. And even if it wasn't, Harry believed that things will turn out just right. He was so relieved to be back, that only his happiness and excitement kept him from closing his eyes and falling asleep on the spot. The stress he suffered during past days was gruesome and now, finally, all his troubles seemed miles away.

"Let's go Harry," Molly interrupted them, taking his hand and leading him gently towards the kitchen. "You will tell us everything later, but now you have to eat something. Ron is right. You've never been so skinny before and I take it as my personal duty to put you back in order!"

Being hungry as he was, the last thing Harry wanted was to protest.

*****

_London, the Ministry of Magic_

_23__rd__ December 2000, 11:55_

Percy would never expect that getting the job in the Ministry Office could be so easy. Especially, when he still clearly remembered how extremely difficult it had been the last time. He had to work twice as hard as the others and yet he couldn't throw off a suspicion that Fudge employed him only because he wanted to get to Dumbledore. When Percy couldn't give him any information about his previous Headmaster simply because he didn't know anything he disappointed the Minister greatly.

As far as he could tell Umbridge wasn't disappointed to see him in the slightest. Actually, she seemed truly pleased that he came to apply for a job under her leadership. At first he found it surprising but now when he could think about it, everything started to make sense. The Ministry was in ruins, depopulated and terrorized. She lacked people practically in every department and more and more wizards and witches were leaving. The Minister launched offensive, trying to stop them at any cost, even if she had to use a force. That's why he was immediately assigned to the role of a chief officer of Emigration Commision, who will evaluate justification of emigrant's demand to leave the country. Umbridge made it clear that any attempt to flee without his signed license was banned and the punishment represented three days in Azkaban, which with the current number of vampires inhabiting the prison meant a death sentence. The worst of all was that he wasn't allowed to sign a single stupid parchment without her approval – he couldn't set a single soul free. The conclusion was simple. His job was completely meaningless, he was just a figure for people to hate. He hadn't even started working and he was already sick of it. If this was the real reason he was there, he wouldn't hesitate a second and run away. But as his loyalty belonged to the Order and he's got a task to finish, he wouldn't leave. He had to get as close to Umbridge as possible, so he had to stay here and suffer.

The only thing making it bearable was the fact that even now he was fighting his enemies. Since the Battle of Hogwarts he wished nothing more than to get an opportunity to avenge his brother's death and here he finally got one. No matter what Hermione thought, he was certain that Umbridge was manipulated and the Leader wasn't the enemy of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. There was no way how could such a chaos happen, if You-Know-Who wasn't involved in this. Moreover, he heard a rumor of the Death Eater's attack in the Diagon Alley. What else could be greater evidence than this? And even if he was wrong by chance, he was supposed to find out the truth. He will discover what was going on here.

His slow pace finally came to halt in front of the door to the Leaders office. As he stood there, he felt a strange tremor of nervousness running through him like a silent warning. It took him awhile before he managed to suppress it. Facing the Leader in person should not make him feel this kind of distress. It was a part of his job description to discuss everything concerning the Emigration Commision with Minister's highest adviser. He might as well pull himself together before someone could say that he was acting like a coward. His fingers resolutely curled into a fist and energetically knocked on the door of the Leader's office.

"Come in," called a pleasant voice carrying slightly foreign accent. Percy took in a deep breath and stepped in.

The interior of Leader's office was atypically large and dim. Also, he instantly smelled some strange odor in the air, not entirely unpleasant, perhaps only too spicy and sweet for his liking. But there were other things which he found much more disturbing. He would never expect to see a pale woman sleeping there on the sofa beside a fireplace, nor was it usual to have curtains covering the windows in the middle of the day. He also couldn't understand why the Leader would wear that heavy cloak with a cape even when sitting in his own office. Something was definitely wrong about this.

"You don't have to stand on the door-sill. You're allowed to come in," the Leader spoke pleasantly and his visible lips curling upward to form a hint of a smile.

As Percy heard that, he realized how improper his petrified stare had been. He cleared his throat, closed the door and hesitantly approached the Leader's worktable. He could feel the other man's gaze assessing him and for some reason it made his throat feel very dry. He didn't like it at all.

"I don't believe we've met before. What do I owe the _pleasure_?" the Leader spoke again, his voice even more pleasant than before. Yet another thing Percy found disturbing. To find some distraction, his eyes left the cloaked man and glanced over toward the sleeping dark haired woman.

"She's my personal assistant. She had a tough night so she's taking a short rest. I hope you understand," the Leader spoke nearly apologetically. "May I know your name?"

"Weasley. Percy Weasley," Percy spoke, slowly regaining his confidence. "I am a new chief officer of Emigration Commission."

"Oh, yes," the Leader said blankly, his friendliness quickly dissipating and Percy briefly wondered what did he say wrong. "I recall Dolores mentioned that someone like you will come."

Percy stood quietly, waiting to be instructed. It surprised him that the Leader said nothing, only watched him expectantly.

"So?" he even asked, confusing the young man greatly.

"The Minister told me that you will provide me with the accurate terms of my assignment," Percy explained, trying to sound composed and calm.

The nicely shaped lips - the only facial feature visible beneath the hood - disappeared to form a thin line. "I see," the man ultimately whispered before he called out.

"Leontina! Get up! You have a work to do!"

The sleeping woman woke instantly, sat up and hissed quietly. Then she noticed the young man standing before the Leader and her dark eyes narrowed. The unpleasant feeling creeping along Percy's spine returned and multiplied.

"This is our new chief of Emigration Commission. Bring us his terms of assignment," the Leader clarified and the woman got up and left without a single word. Percy couldn't get rid of the feeling that she seemed to be extremely irritated.

"You can sit down, Mr. Weasley; she'll be back in a minute."

Percy took the offered seat, pretending not to be bothered by the other man's presence. There was something obnoxious about the aura seeping through the mask of Leader's pleasantness.

"So, Mr. Weasley, I'm really curious why have you decided to apply for this job, especially in these difficult times?" the Leader disturbed the flow of his thoughts with a tricky question.

Percy was, however, prepared for this.

"I felt that my career became nearly nonexistent in the past few years so I decided to use this chance," he replied using his long-practiced phrase. His eyes glanced over the Leader's table and he noticed a folder with Harry Potter's name beneath the man's folded hands. The Leader didn't even try to hide it. On the other hand he opened the file and started to browse through Harry's biography. Whether he was doing it on purpose or not, Percy didn't know.

"Hmm, interesting," the older man replied. "So, you're a friend of Harry Potter, right?"

Percy decided to be careful about his following answer. "I'm not sure if I would use this word to describe our relationship. But we know each other for some time, that's true. And I also hope that someone rescues him from You-Know-Who's captivity."

To Percy's great discomfiture the Leader closed the folder and openly laughed. The young man was shocked as he couldn't recall saying anything funny. Before he could ask, the Leader's amusement disappeared. He leaned over the table and rubbed his chin before speaking aloud.

"What if I tell you that Harry Potter will return without anyone's help and he'll become a great enemy of the Ministry? What will you do? Will you protect him even if he betrays everything you believe in? Tell me, whom belongs your loyalty, Mr. Weasley?"

Up to now Percy was trying to keep up with the Leader's inquisitive questions. But now he completely lost it.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he finally said.

The other man merely shook his head, smirking in satisfaction.

"It doesn't mater. Forget my question, Percy Weasley. Besides, sooner or later we will find it out. Everything is only a matter of time, isn't it?"

"But..."

The door the office opened and the woman called Leontina came in, bringing some parchments. The Leader took them wordlessly and looked back at the unnerved young man.

"I said forget it. Now is time for us to discuss the scope of your employment."

Percy caught a short glance of dark ultramarine eyes from beneath the man's cape and didn't dare to oppose anymore.

_**R&R**_


	29. Christmas surprises

**Author's note: **I'm terribly sorry for keeping you waiting for so long, but if you read info in my profile you already know what the problem was. My computer was broken but it is (hopefully) fixed now, so I don't expect similar technical difficulties in the near future. The chapter is rewritten and it's slightly different from the original. (It fascinates me how differently I'm able to write the same chapter, especially when I just wanted to copy the original from my memory – obviously it's not as simple as I thought.) I don't know which one was (or is) better, but I do hope you will like this one. It's one of the longest (if not absolutely longest) chapters I've ever written. Oh, and sorry for the mistakes. Longer text = more mistakes. I'm trying to avoid them, but I know I'm far from being perfect.

**Christmas surprises **

_Grimmauld Place 12, London_

_23rd_ _December 2000, 12:20_

_If only things were simple like they used to be_, Harry thought solemnly as he looked around the table, meeting the smiling faces of his friends who chatted avidly about his heroic deeds. Under any other circumstances he would be thrilled to see Neville, Luna, Hannah, Michael, Lee and Angelina again. He hadn't met them since the tragic events at the end of the Battle of Hogwarts more than two years ago. It was great to have them sitting across from him together with Ron, Hermione and George. It would have been perfect if only they would stop making him feel so uncomfortable.

Harry couldn't stand the way they praised him for defeating the Dark Lord once again. It was his mistake; he failed to convince them that his survival was in no case a glorious victory over Lord Voldemort. As a result of this 'failure' no one listened to him or questioned him about what really happened. Ron momentarily held everyone's attention as he skillfully imitated Harry casting the Expelliarmus Curse while Lee pretended to be Voldemort who screamed in rage as he realized he lost his wand. Harry abruptly got up (fortunately, his plaster was already removed and his broken leg was healed) to protest and explain that that's not how it happened, but he had no chance to drown out their laughter. He sighed and returned to mere watching them having fun when watching Ron's and Lee's performance. They were all too accustomed to see Harry as a super hero that they would hardly accept his 'not so heroic' explanation. He was after all the only person who successfully resisted Voldemort's attempts on his life on numerous occasions, so there was no reason to doubt his extraordinary skills. Even though Harry disagreed with this, he stopped his efforts to interrupt their entertainment. He sat back down, rather giving his attention to a roast beef on his plate than the topic of the conversation. He only shivered as he heard Neville's loud proclamation that he would love to decapitate _You-Know-Who_ the same way he finished his snake for all the atrocity he had committed. Harry understood this utter hatred and abhorrence as he also had too many good reasons to feel the same revulsion. Just a few days ago he would totally agree with Neville's idea and he would gladly hand over this difficult task he was prophesied to fulfill. However, killing Tom Riddle or even agree with his murder after he saved him _twice_ from drowning and from becoming the vampire's dinner felt simply _wrong_.

He closed his eyes to regain some composure and ease the burning pain behind his eyelids, while shaking his head slowly. He was not supposed to defend Voldemort in any way, especially not in front of his friends. When he looked up again, he noticed that Hermione was secretly watching him. He tried to smile at her to show that everything was all right, but his forced grin felt too false on his lips. No, she was too clever to be fooled by this poor attempt of him to look happy. She looked at him quizzically again, but didn't utter a single word and he was glad for it. He knew she was going to question him later. He was almost relieved that at least someone noticed his uneasiness.

Harry shrugged it off as the older members of the Order namely Elphias, Dedalus, and Arthur arrived, but what completely shocked him was an unexpected presence of the Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt. Once the older man noticed him, he came across and greeted him loudly; patting his back while he congratulated him to another successful victory over his archenemy. Harry gritted his teeth. It started to be too much. How could they call him a winner when he clearly lost the duel with the Dark Lord? He slowly started to feel like a cheater and a liar when he let them think that.

"Minister," he began quietly, "this is a huge misunderstanding. Maybe I didn't make myself clear. I didn't win over Voldemort. On the other hand I..."

"Firstly Harry," Kingsley calmly interrupted him. "I'm not a Minister anymore. Don't look so surprised my dear boy, it's all because of You-Know-Who's plotting, I'm sure of it. Secondly, everyone who survives an encounter with You-Know-Who is a winner no matter how he or she did that."

"But Minister..." Harry protested.

"Kingsley ... just Kingsley, Harry. And now when we are all here, can you tell us what actually happened to you during the week you were gone? We of course need new information about You-Know-Who. Had you discovered something about his plans while you were in his captivity?"

Everyone's attention finally turned to Harry. He could see their curious gazes; he saw how they waited to hear about the thrilling news and his splendid escape. For a second Harry felt a bitter resentment for he was going to disappoint them greatly.

"I'm no longer the Master of the Elder Wand. Voldemort defeated me in a duel and he won the wand's favor," he said blankly, watching their enthusiasm quickly disappear, being replaced by a pure shock.

"He didn't kill me because of an accident," he continued. "An accident which caused an explosion in the quarry where we dueled and which buried me for good five days in an underground cave. It means that I didn't win anything. I've lost, okay?"

He glanced over their empty faces and slowly sat back into the chair. He didn't even notice when he got up.

"That's ... that's all I can tell you for now," he said lowly, looking back at his plate. "I don't know about his plans. He didn't tell me anything." _Except he offered me to become a member of his army._ Harry felt a shiver running up and down his spine at the thought. How could Voldemort ever think that he would fight for him? That he would kill for him? Has he ultimately lost the remnants of his sanity? It didn't look that way when they were together. He seemed perfectly rational most of the time.

Meanwhile, his ears registered the stunned silence, which scraped on his nerves much more than previous merriment. Harry knew he should try to break it by saying something more but he had absolutely no idea what that should be. Besides, he felt too tired to discuss this anymore. What he really wanted to do was to go to his bedroom and sleep for the rest of the day. If someone wanted to talk to him about it, he or she could easily wait for later. Before he made the final decision to leave, someone's hand on his shoulder shook him and brought him out of his muse. He looked up and found Mr. Weasley standing beside him, regarding him worriedly.

"The most important thing is that you've survived, Harry," he said. "That you've escaped and returned to us."

But Harry could only shake his head in response.

"It's not completely true," he protested. "I didn't escape from Voldemort's captivity. I was not as much of _his_ prisoner as a Ministry prisoner. Look, I know it sounds preposterous but trust me - someone was trying to kill me by blocking the way out of that place and I'm very suspicious that this person was someone from the Ministry. I'm not absolutely sure, though. I want to learn the truth and that's why I need to know about everything what happened here when I was gone," Harry tried to explain.

His friends looked rather lost. They regarded each other with confused stares until Ron finally uttered.

"Ministry prisoner? So ... we were right when we thought that Umbridge works for You-Know-Who."

"Umbridge?" Harry asked, baffled as well.

"Umbridge is the current Minister for Magic, Harry," Hermione replied calmly.

Harry's eyes grew impossibly wide.

"What ... what do you mean? How could Umbridge get that post? Last time I've heard of her, she was in the prison!"

"That's right, Harry," Kingsley nodded and sighed, "but times change quickly and people forget even faster. Besides, she has an incredibly capable assistant, who practically won the chair for her. He calls himself the Leader (which says a lot about his personality). He's an incredibly arrogant bastard who doesn't mind using both sly and rough ways to get what he wants. But what's worse, I personally think he and Umbridge are up to something. They certainly helped the vampires to occupy the Ministry and now they are pretending to fight them off, all of that on You-Know-Who's order."

Harry sat silently for a moment, absorbing the information.

"So vampires attacked the Ministry," he whispered. "I don't believe this is Voldemort's doing. It can't be... And Umbridge – she absolutely hates magical creatures, she calls them half-breeds! Why would she allow them to usurp _her_ Ministry?"

"But we must beware of hasty judgment, dear boy," Elphias spoke somewhere behind him, making him slightly jump in the chair. "It would be a great mistake if we underestimated You-Know-Who. Merlin knows what horrors he's capable of doing. This could be his way of bringing Ministry to knees even without an army of Death Eaters behind him."

"That may be true, but I still agree with Harry," Hermione butted in suddenly. "It's not only Ministry we have to take into account. Why would ... _You-Know-Who_ order vampires to attack Azkaban, when most of his followers were imprisoned in there? Why would he allow a slaughter of his own followers? He would save them first, wouldn't he?"

"We know nothing of his motivation, Hermione. Consider the fact that during the Battle of Hogwarts most of the Death Eaters stopped fighting even before You-Know-Who escaped. He may consider them as traitors." Kingsley mused aloud, scratching his wide chin.

Harry looked from one to the other, seeing them ultimately come to the same conclusion. Wrong conclusion. Voldemort committed many horrendous crimes but he couldn't be involved in this one! Harry just couldn't let them think that.

"Voldemort didn't do this," he said. For some reason he couldn't stand blaming Riddle for a massacre he couldn't partake in. As could be expected, everyone flinched at hearing the name and looked to him, greatly surprised. It was extremely unusual to see Harry Potter advocate for his archenemy.

"I know that it's easy to think that anything bad what happens necessarily has to be _his_ scheme, but this is not the case," Harry continued explaining, opposing their shocked faces.

"Are you sure, Harry?" Hermione ultimately asked when no one else seemed to find words. "Why do you think that Voldemort is not behind this? What makes you think that it wasn't him, who buried you alive in that cave? Because this is exactly what everyone would expect him to do. What is it, Harry? Can you tell us?" she inquired quietly and he looked up and met her curious gaze.

Yes, Hermione was really very clever; Harry could see that she already suspected that something else was going on. He had to answer her, even though he would prefer not to speak about it. He would rather keep it only for himself. The memories which made him feel both shame and confusion. He was trying to forget them, or pretend it never happened. His endeavor was for vain now. He had to tell them the truth.

"It's ... simple," he breathed out, still holding her gaze. "Riddle couldn't do it, because ... he was in that cave with me. So, it means ... that someone was trying to kill us both."

"You ... you were..." she began, but her mouth stopped moving before she finished the sentence. For a moment it looked as if Harry used a stunning curse against everyone in the room.

"Merlin's ... beard," Arthur finally stuttered.

"You have been buried in a cave together with You-Know-Who for over a week?-!" Angelina sitting by the left corner of the dinning table squeaked.

"No, not the whole week, just about five days or so," Harry shrugged.

"How could you possibly ... survive that?" Michael, who stood completely stunned beside the dark skinned girl, gasped in disbelief.

Harry shrugged his shoulders. "I guess only because Riddle lost his wand after the explosion. He's not so lethal without it. But the important thing is that once we finally got outside, he tried to summon it but someone already stole it. Someone who knew where we were entrapped. Someone who has an army of Aurors spying upon Voldemort! It was Umbridge! She wants to get rid of Voldemort and she wanted to kill me too. It was after all her, who set two Dementors after me and my cousin five years ago!"

Harry once again stood, though his legs shook with exhaustion. His hands were curled into tight fists as he looked determinedly at his friends.

"Harry, do you realize that you just accused the current Minister for Magic of an attempted murder?" Kingsley whispered, still in a slight shock.

"Double murder," Harry corrected. "You may not consider Riddle worth saving, but killing him without any rightful judicial decision is a murder and not some kind of a heroic deed."

Neville just like everyone else stared at him numbly for several long seconds before he finally gathered himself and spoke.

"I ... I thought you wanted him to die," he muttered insecurely.

"I did, Neville," Harry agreed instantly. "However, I never wanted to be the one who has to do it."

"Says the only person who has a chance to succeed in this task," Dedalus responded bluntly. Probably no one had ever seen him so serious before. "Dumbledore would be disappointed."

Harry felt the burning tension growing in his throat, rising up, threatening to spill in a form of tears.

"Dumbledore," he whispered, "was the last person who believed that Riddle still had a chance to redeem himself. I guess you didn't know that, right?"*

He took a deep breath to keep himself steady and turned away from them, stalking out of the silent room.

_Grimmauld Place 12, London_

_23rd_ _December 2000, 19:15_

Harry opened eyes when he heard a quiet creak of door in the adjacent room. He suppressed a yawn and turned on his back, blinking blindly into the dark space above him. It's been hours since he retired to rest. He hoped to fall asleep at first, but he was either too exhausted or overly upset from the last conversation with his friends. His fleeting thoughts returned to the argument over and over again and he mostly regretted not staying quiet. He was aware that his judgment of other people was not always correct. He should keep in mind that he could be easily fooled by Voldemort's pretense, still something deep inside was compelling him to believe that his enemy had been sincere at the time. And for some completely incomprehensible reason he really did believe that. He found it a bit discomfiting. Was he really that foolish and reckless?

He growled quietly and rather focused his thoughts on a different threat, the vampires. The vision of the pointy canines of the undead monster was still fresh in his memory; he could feel his blood growing cold at the remembrance of those persuasive, dangerous eyes. What was the freak's name? He couldn't remember this irrelevance anymore. All he recalled was his dismay and anxiety.

He snorted quietly in aggravation.

"Harry?" Hermione's soft voice responded to his grunt. The door creaked again and Harry quickly sat up and groped after the glasses on the bedside locker.

"Ouch! Watch out, Ron! You stepped on my foot!" he heard her painful whisper moment later.

"Sorry, Mione, I can't see anything," replied a deeper baritone.

"_Lumos_."

The tip of Hermione's wand enlightened the small room just when Harry pushed his angular glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"That's better," Ron grumbled behind her.

"Harry, did we wake you up?" Hermione began apologetically, but he just shook his head and sat up on his bed.

"Not at all, I was awake," he said as they took place beside him.

Harry noticed their worried glances and instantly felt ashamed. They really cared a big deal about him. They didn't deserve his cold treatment.

"I'm sorry about the afternoon, I shouldn't have said those things," he began hesitantly.

Hermione scrutinized him for a briefly before she shook her head. Then she nervously edged on the bed.

"Don't apologize. You certainly had a very good reason to say it. It was wrong of us not to ask you about what happened to you and make that reckless presumption instead. I wanted to apologize right then, but something told me that maybe you would prefer to talk about this in private."

Ron, who was sitting right beside his girlfriend enthusiastically nodded.

"Yeah, it had to be totally traumatizing experience, right? I mean, being imprisoned with You-Know-Who ... something like that would scar anyone for life." The ginger haired young man shuddered at the thought. "It was insensitive of us to act like nothing had happened..."

"Yeah, like you would even notice how insensitive it was if I haven't told you," Hermione scolded him right away, before turning back to Harry and squeezing his shoulder in her small hand.

"Harry, please, forgive us, we didn't mean to hurt you in anyway. You know that, right? Look ... I've noticed your tension before so I know that something's tormenting you. No matter what it is and or how hard it seems to be, we are here to help you work it out."

Harry felt his throat becoming dry. He cleared it with a brief cough and looked down at his folded fingers as he spoke.

"Thanks, but you really don't have to worry. I'm all right. Surprisingly, it wasn't that extremely 'traumatizing' to spend that time in his presence. I just had to get used to the sound of his voice. To his freaking stare. That's all. There were, however, other things that I couldn't repress so easily such as agonizing coldness, hunger and exhaustion. That was what made the experience nearly unbearable."

Harry was certain that Ron strongly disagreed with this statement. His facial expression told him everything he was thinking. Even Hermione regarded him skeptically, though unlike Ron she was trying to hide it.

He offered them a tired half-smile before speaking quietly.

"Why don't you rather ask me why I was defending Voldemort? Isn't that what you want to know the most? I can imagine your confusion."

"Don't say his name," Ron muttered nervously while Hermione slowly let go of his arm which she held until that moment, though her eyes remained on him.

"It is confusing, indeed. I would have thought that similar experience would make you hate him even more," she whispered.

Harry shook his head and snorted quietly.

"He made me feel that way at first, when he destroyed my glasses and tried to strangle me with a piece of his robes. But ... then... I everything changed because...," he sighed and rubbed his burning eyes.

"Have you ever been drowning?" he suddenly asked, looking up from his lap.

"Believe me, it's a dreadful feeling," he continued when they stayed silent. "I nearly drowned in the Black Lake during the second task of the Triwizard Tournament. It was a truly appalling ordeal. So you can imagine that when the cave where we were imprisoned began to flood with ice-cold water, I couldn't help but worry whether I'm going to go through it again. And ... my worries turned out to be right as I got stuck underwater in the only escape route out of that freezing, deadly trap... I really thought that my end had come. Voldemort naturally left me there. He squeezed himself through that foot wide slot because his ridiculously skinny body wouldn't have a problem even with a mouse hole. He escaped and I was condemned to wait for the moment when I wouldn't be able to bear it anymore and breathe in water."

He looked at them again, noticing how horrified they seemed to be.

"But he returned for me," Harry said quickly. "He swam back for me and helped me get out."

The silence which followed was so heavy that it even stifled their breaths. The faces of his closest friends were completely blank in naked disbelief. Harry understood it. He guessed he looked just the same the moment when he realized what happened.

"Voldemort saved my life. It's as simple as it is and yet incredibly hard to believe it, right?"

No reaction, only numb gawping. Ron didn't even protest at hearing the forbidden name.

"But I'm the only one who has to believe that, because I was there. It happened to me. He saved me ... twice," Harry concluded solemnly.

The dumbness continued, he still received no response.

"At least now you understand my 'tension', Hermione," he said exasperatedly, his gaze turning back to his palms.

"Harry," Hermione finally spoke, unsure, as if testing the quality of her voice, "Are you certain you're talking about the same ... _Voldemort_ we know?"

Ron winced.

"The dark wizard who tried to kill you many times over? The one who wouldn't hesitate a second to murder you if he had a chance? What you just told us is completely ... nonsensical," she finished, incredulous.

"Yes, I'm well aware how preposterous it sounds, but trust me, it was _him_. Six feet eight tall, deadly white skin, freaky red eyes, freezing cold voice and he talked to me in Parseltongue a couple of times! It couldn't be anyone else. Besides he had the Elder Wand in his possession."

"It still doesn't make any sense! Why would he do that? Why would he save you?" her voice raised as she opposed him determinedly.

"What did he want in return?" Ron joined her, looking at Harry, his face paler than chalk.

Harry wondered how should he react. He was going to tell the truth, of course, however it didn't seem to suffice. He shrugged his shoulders.

"He told me that right away so I wouldn't misunderstand him. He wanted the only thing he desired more than my death. His own survival."

They seemed to give it a thought as they regarded him closely, their brows furrowed.

"How could saving you help _him_ survive?" Ron asked a moment later, his forehead wrinkled from intense thinking.

Harry sighed. Of course Ron would ask him that. It couldn't be avoided. He quickly tried to make a face which clearly said 'I would prefer not to describe this' or 'You really don't want to know it' yet Ron once again proved to be a bad reader of other people's expressions.

"Some things are better not to be discussed," Hermione saved him as she already made a correct guess as Harry suspected. "Unless Harry wants to."

Harry was glad for her quick thinking and merely shook his head.

"Well, I repaid him, so it doesn't matter anymore."

Before an awkward silence could surround them, Hermione spoke again, obviously trying to change the course of his thoughts.

"What happened then?"

"We escaped from the cave and were saved by a muggle doctor before we could freeze to death," Harry responded quietly. He raised his hands and rubbed small circles into his temples. The 'borrowed' glasses which Daniel gave him were giving him a headache.

"A muggle?" Ron perked up a little, surprised.

"Yeah," Harry nodded. "Mr. Rodgers. He was an incredibly kind guy. We stayed overnight in his family house. His wife was also very lovely and they had that cute daughter, Annie. She was so funny … when Voldemort wasn't around. Otherwise, she was scared of him to death."

"You … you spent a night ... together ... with muggles...?" Ron stuttered.

"Yeah, but Riddle didn't hurt anyone. He was as unpleasant as he could be but didn't hurt them. Would you believe that?" Harry asked, glancing at them.

"He was in a pretty bad state," he continued, "but it couldn't be the reason behind his strange behavior. It seemed as if he was … I don't know - scared of something - or someone…" He rubbed his temples again. "It had to be that vampire..."

"You encountered a vampire?" Hermione asked anxiously.

"Yep. We had an unexpected night visit. I nearly became a vampiric dinner, but Riddle – that bastard – he saved me again. He crept up to that creature and stabbed it with a pencil or something while I and that monster were having some meaningless talk. One would have thought that he would rather stab me than the vampire..."

Hermione closed her mouth, which were hanging open a little and coughed shortly.

"Harry," she began hesitantly. "That sounds so … I'm sorry for that word … unbelievable."

He turned to Hermione, who bit her lip, unsure of his reaction.

Harry must have surprised her by his affirmative, short nod.

"That's right, that's how it sounds - from the beginning to the very end. But, unbelievable things are happening to me ever since I was born, or - even _before_ I was born actually..."

They were still puzzled, Harry could see that, nevertheless the first signs of sympathy and comprehension leaked through it. Harry felt relieved as if all the tension, fear, worries, all the absurdity of it was slowly washing off of him. He gladly let it go. Once again Hermione's hand met his shoulder. Even Ron stopped gawping at him and rather shuffled his feet on the floor.

"Well, to finish it, today's morning Mr. Rodgers took us along to London and … we parted … and that's basically all."

Harry knew that there was much more what he could tell them, but these things were also adequately more difficult to discuss. Not that he would try to hide something from his friends, but he needed some time to think it through and take some stand.

The hand on his shoulder tightened.

"Okay," Hermione finally said and nodded, apparently decided not to push him too much.

"Is there anything we can do for you, Harry?"

"You're here with me now. That's all I need," he said with a small smile.

"Of course we are," she said quietly and Ron reached out and lay his hand over his girlfriend's, squeezing her fingers on Harry's shoulder. He was still a little in shock, Harry guessed. It could be the only reason why he was so quiet and not screaming 'bloody murder!'

"I'm sorry that we were so unsuccessful in our search for you," Hermione continued in apologetic voice. "It's hard to describe the desperation we felt when we had no information of you. We even robbed the Leader of some of his personal belongings in order to find you."

Harry looked up.

"Really? That's quite embarrassing. Fortunately, I don't know him. Otherwise, I would have to apologize for causing troubles. What exactly did you steal?"

"Just one weird letter," Ron explained. "It's written in Romanian, but there's your name in it, as well as Draco Malfoy's. It's addressed to You-Know-Who. Strange, isn't it? More importantly, that guy - that Leader - is a real freak," Ron continued in a lower voice. "He keeps a portrait of You-Know-Who under his bloody pillow," he whispered as if he was telling some nasty gossip. "You wouldn't want to apologize to him. I bet he's You-Know-Who's freaky follower or something..."

"I don't think so," Hermione opposed. "If he were Voldemort's follower, why would he tear his Horcrux apart?"

"Hermione! Would you please stop saying his name!" Ron bemoaned, clutching at his ears while Harry gasped.

"Wha- What? What did you say?"

"I forgot to mention our little discovery!" Hermione realized at the sight of his bewildered expression and eagerly pulled out her wand.

"You'll see right away! Just wait a second... _Apparencio_ Riddle's diary," she said and with a flick of her wand out of nowhere materialized a well-known ruptured black book.

She quickly opened it on the last page and showed the confused young raven-haired man what she found. Harry blinked several times.

"What's this paper?" he asked and reached out for the separate sheet.

"It's the letter we found in the Leader's office. Look how perfectly it fits with these tattered edges." She move the paper until its torn side fitted together with the book's binding. "This letter certainly used to be a page in Riddle's diary once. Someone tore it out before you stabbed it with the Basilisk fang!"

Harry slowly took the book and looked at the small shreds of the obviously missing page and then at the letter in Hermione's hand.

"You're right," he muttered. "I've never noticed this before."

"Maybe this page was already missing when You-Know-Who turned that book into you-know-what," Ron suggested.

"I don't think so," Hermione shook her head. "I don't think he would hide his soul into something damaged when a simple spell could have repaired it. However, a damaged Horcrux is very difficult – nearly impossible - to mend together. I'm sure that even a very capable wizard like _him _wouldn't be able to do it. Nevertheless, an impairment of this extent would probably not effect the soul inside very much," she explained thoughtfully.

"Yeah, so I've noticed in the Chamber," Harry said bitterly and leaned to take the letter from her hand.

"Did you translate what's written in here?"

"Partially," Hermione sighed.

"It seemed as if the person who wrote this letter was trying to advise You-Know-Who. Which is really absurd, considering the fact that the owner of this letter was probably the person who mutilated the Horcrux. Why would someone like that want to help You-Know-Who is beyond my understanding. The author of the letter even wrote: 'See you soon. D.L.N.' As if he or she was looking forward to meet him. That's simply past any comprehension."

"Right... But the question is, could it be the Leader's doing?" Harry asked as he skimmed through the content of the letter again.

"It's hard to say. We don't know Leader's true name. The only clue is here in the letter, where are at least the author's initials. Whether they belong to the Leader or not remains the question. I, however, used it as a footing for a brief research in some Romanian books and also some newspapers and found..."

"And found?" Harry interrupted her.

"Nothing," she sighed. "It's just the same like in that R.A.B. case. No one I found seemed to be the right 'candidate'. The only thing we know at the moment is that he or she is a Romanian, who also probably speaks English."

"Which also doesn't have to be necessity, because You-Know-Who most likely speaks Romanian. Otherwise he wouldn't be able to understand the content of the letter, right?" Ron said.

"True," Hermione nodded, thinking.

"Do you remember the day when we were in the Kingsley's office and the Leader came together with Crouch and others to inform him of his ejection? It occurred to me what a strange accent he had."

"I guess … you're right," Ron admitted.

"So it could be the Leader," Harry concluded.

"Yes, it _could_ be. We don't have any proof, Harry. We cannot be sure."

"I think I'd like to meet him. I mean the Leader," Harry specified as they looked at him incredulously. "Something's telling me that you made an important discovery and if the Leader's part of it, then I want to know more about him. I think I shall pay him and Umbridge a visit and ask some questions. I wonder how will they welcome me … especially Umbridge. But before I go there, I need a wand."

"We brought you one, Harry. It's not very good, it belonged to Mundungus – or more precisely it's the wand which Mundungus stole some Auror - but that's the only spare we have at the moment," Hermione said as she handed it over.

"That's still great, thanks," Harry said, taking the wand and testing it instantly."What's the core?"

"I don't know. We didn't talk to Mr. Ollivander yet," Hermione said apologetically.

"It doesn't matter," Harry mumbled.

"Harry, you don't want to visit Ministry right now, do you?" Ron asked hesitantly as he watched Harry try some spells.

"No," he answered immediately. "Not before Christmas at least. It has to wait until then."

His ginger-haired friend seemed to be very relieved after his answer.

"Has Percy returned from the Ministry yet?" Harry spoke again, bending the wand, examining its elasticity.

"Yes," Hermione answered. "Shortly before we came to you. He was extremely concerned about the situation there. It has to be really bad."

Harry nodded and finally looked up to them, tearing his eyes away from his new wand.

"Did he talk to the Leader? What does he think about him?"

"He thinks that he's a freak. As if we didn't already know," Ron muttered. "But he was very surprised when we told him that you're back home. He was quite stunned. He probably gave up every hope..."

"I'll talk to him tomorrow," Harry nodded and then yawned and leaned against the pillow.

Hermione smiled at him.

"Now that you mentioned it, do you know what's the plan for tomorrow?"

Harry didn't miss the spark in her eye, nor Ron's wide grin.

"What?" he asked, slightly confused.

"Presents, Harry!" Hermione laughed. "Don't you want to buy some presents?"

"Oh, right!" he groaned. "I've nearly forgotten. I don't have anything!"

"That's what I thought. Ron's just the same, as usual. Right?"

"I was waiting for Harry. It's hard to buy something without his ...err … help," her boyfriend defended himself.

"Then we'll go together, okay?"

"Okay. It'll be great, I can't wait," Harry smiled. His face beamed up in happiness. He disliked shopping but he couldn't wait to spend whole day with his best friends.

"Certainly. Goodnight, Harry. It's great to have you back," Hermione said and Ron also added: "Night, Harry. And … forget that nightmare." After he wished them good night too, they left and Harry finally snuggled against the soft pillow, taking off his glasses and closing his eyes. Now, when the tension was gone and he had something to look forward to the next day, he nearly instantly fell asleep.

The next day was the best one Harry had a pleasure to spend in a very long time. It was unusually sunny for a late December and though it was also a bit colder than the previous day Harry didn't mind. With a warm anorak keeping him comfortable and his friends around him making him laugh freely, he missed nearly nothing. Nearly. There was still that small empty place where Ginny should have been but he stuffed that with so many superficial affairs with women who never really cared about him that he rather tried not to think about it too much. It would only make him want to start drinking again. Life was too short for wallowing in misery – especially his life, which could end practically at any moment. Besides, Ginny wouldn't want him to grieve for her eternally, anyway. So he forget his anguish, even if it should be only for a one day.

First they went into a huge muggle shopping centre, because Ron has never been in one before and he really wanted to see that. It was also a great opportunity to buy some gifts for Ron's father. Harry almost regretted that they didn't take Arthur along, because he would be certainly ecstatic. Even Ron often made comical expressions at the sight of seemingly endless muggle invention. Later, they had a lunch at McDonald's because Ron needed to know what they meant when they said that it was just a fast food. Harry guessed that Ron expected his hamburger grow legs and try to escape from his plate before he could eat it. He had to snort quietly all the way to the table as he watched Ron keeping a firm grip upon his meal. He hoped he didn't spoil his experience too much by telling him how very unhealthy that 'absolutely delicious food' - as Ron called it - was.

After the lunch they left for the Diagon Alley. The street seemed to be shockingly deserted when Harry could directly compare it with the mummery in the muggle shopping center. In spite of it some shops were still opened and after some time spent there, they ultimately bought everything they wanted. On the way back Hermione tried to explain him the reason of this obvious depopulation. For many wizards and witches the 'double threat', which meant Voldemort and vampires, started to be too much for them and they decided for emigration. It was hard to believe that the situation was so bad, when the sun was shining (even though low above the horizon) and the street looked so peaceful. It was until Harry saw some destroyed shop windows when it got across to him that the situation was far from being safe and steady. He wasn't aware of relevance of these findings until they got back at the Grimmauld Place where he could think about it calmly without anyone around him screaming in joy that 'Harry Potter is alive!'.

He tried not to spend the rest of the day contemplating it, though. It was after all the Christmas Eve, they were decorating the house and Christmas tree and he didn't want to spoil everyone's mood, especially when he saw how happy they were that he was with them. He was also glad that no one tried to comment yesterday's disagreement. Luckily, everyone seemed to tolerate his opinion and no one tried to upbraid him for speaking his mind. After a light dinner (no one wanted to eat too much because of tomorrow's feast) which they spend together having much fun (Ron, Lee and George were telling jokes, which luckily had nothing to do with Harry or his encounter with the Dark Lord) they all headed to their bed looking forward the next morning. And Harry was really thrilled about tomorrow, since he once again felt like a small boy waiting for his first real Christmas...

_Finsbury Circus, London_

_24th_ _December 2000, 23:40_

A man kneeling in the middle of the dark room bent his back even more. It was dimmed, cloudy and overheated place with the air so thick that it would be easier to cut than breathe. But the heavy air wasn't the only reason why he couldn't fulfill his lungs. He knew who else was there with him. A person who called for him, a person whose name was forbidden to say aloud. The Dark Lord, an all-powerful nightmare of whole wizard's community, determined to rule the world for any prize. So he didn't even try to look around, his head was almost touching a black dusty carpet in submission. His fatty body was trembling as if he were cold even though the poor rest of his black hair was stuck in streams of sweat. He didn't dare to look up at the figure in an armchair few meters in front of him. Even the most faithful and trusted followers usually didn't dare to do it during their report. Especially, when they had a bad news for him. But if he found somewhere a bit of courage to look up, he would see a deadly pale, tall, thin person resting in the seat. His left hand with incredibly long fingers lay relaxed over the armrest, holding a wand between two fingers while the second one was reposed in the folds of his heavy robe. Black cloth covering his body only pronounced the strange white color of his skin untouched by sun, only here and there were visible slightly protruding curves of veins. His snake-like form, mainly the dilated slits instead of a nose and bright, flaming crimson eyes, which were now buried into his follower on the ground, negated any illusion of calm. Despite an intense heat radiating from the fireplace, not even a single droplet of sweat appeared on his chalk-colored skin.

"Where are my Death Eaters, Amycus?" whispered his icy, dry voice. "Where is the rest of my army?"

Man on the floor froze, his sight still buried into the carpet.

"What happened to them?"

Man's body shuddered harder. He knew this could be one of his last moments among those who are alive.

"My Lord ... I immensely regret what happened … no one could prevent it … _please_ … please don't punish me … My Lord!"

"What?-!" the freezing voice barked, making Amycus crouch on the floor.

" ... we've suffered a loss, Master."

There was a freezing silence for a moment.

"Loss? What do you mean?" The merciless voice slightly rose as the tall figure stood up to its respectable high.

Amycus clenched his fingers and bowed even more, almost to prenatal position.

"The Death Eaters … those who were imprisoned in Azkaban … they are … they are all … dead except … except..." he whimpered in fear.

Amycus couldn't go on. The horror blocked his airways.

"What did you say to me? Say it again!" Voldemort's high, clear voice resounded in the room. It could be heard that he hardly held back a scream.

Amycus began to sob.

"M... My ... My Lord ... it was the vampires... They … they murdered them...," he cried.

A roar of frenzied fury left Voldemort's throat.

The Dark Lord waved his arm and Amycus shrieked in terrible pain, trashed in spasms, twisting his limbs in unnatural angles, crying, sobbing and arching under effects of insufferable torture. It took many long seconds, maybe even minutes before the pale hand finally lowered the wand to the ground. Amycus stopped screaming, but stayed on the floor where he fell, painfully groaning and crying.

"Silence!" sputtered furiously the dark figure above him and strode across the room to stop behind the armchair. Over his own ragged breath Amycus could hear fast, wheezing intakes coming from the Dark Lord. Even though his Master's was immensely agitated, he seemed to be thinking deeply about what he was told. Then he slowly, icily spoke.

"Who survived?"

"O... only the Malfoys … My Lord. Now, they … serve the Leader," Amycus stuttered, curling his body in expectation of a new portion of torture.

However, his Lordhe didn't raise the wand this time.

"Traitors … traitors … all of them...," he hissed maliciously, spitting the words out of his mouth, tearing the armchair's upholstery with his sharp claws. "I should have expected it. I should have known since I had seen their _loyalty_ during the Battle of Hogwarts!"

Amycus shuddered as the mad red eyes focused on him.

"Leave … leave, you fool, and tell your sister not to come to my sight anytime soon. Leave while you can!"

"Th ...thank you … Mast..."

Before Amycus could finish the sentence his body was raised into the air and thrown out of the room in to a cold corridor. The door slammed loudly behind him and burst in flames.

_Grimmauld Place 12, London_

_25th_ _December 2000, 08:02_

CRACK!

"Merry Christmas, Harry!"

Harry woke up with a tremendous start. He blinked several times, unseeing, before the glasses miraculously appeared on his nose. Above him towered George and Lee, both grinning madly, wearing Santa's hat and long gray beards which looked suspiciously real.

Before Harry could curse, growl or produce any similar sound, they disappeared with another loud popping sound.

"Hey!" he called out and began to scramble out of the bed.

"HARRY!"

Harry jumped again as the door flung open.

"Ron?" he muttered at the sight of his irate friend.

"Where are they?-!"

Harry had to chuckle.

"George and Lee? I don't know. Probably already unpacking your presents."

Ron only growled, turned on the heel and sprinted downstairs.

Harry began to undo the buttons of his pyjama shirt when a dreamy voice behind him halted all his movements.

"Merry Christmas, Harry."

Harry spun around keeping the shirt tightly to his chest.

"Eh … oh … Merry Christmas, Luna," he choked out, wondering why the hell did he sound embarrassed. Maybe because Luna watched him with that unconcealed curiosity.

"You've grown," she said as if she made some very interesting and unexpected discovery.

"Yeah, a little," Harry stammered a bit. He didn't know how to react.

She just stood there, watching him as if she waited for something.

"Can we go downstairs?" she finally said.

"Right," Harry yelped, "but first I'd like to redress."

"Okay," she nodded, still staring.

"In private," Harry added.

A soft wrinkle appeared on her forehead as she apparently wondered why Harry needed redressing in the first place. Maybe it was customary for Lovegoods to celebrate Christmas in a nightshirt. Harry wouldn't be surprised.

Before Harry could tactfully tell her that he would like to close that door, Michael Corner who ran downstairs (probably another victim of George's and Lee's brutal awakening) halted beside Luna, glancing from her to Harry and back.

"Hello Luna," he finally said, forcing a bright smile on his lips.

"Hello Harry," he added right away, the charming smile quickly disappearing. If Harry didn't miss anything, Michael seemed to fight a small fit of jealousy. Something Harry didn't want to partake in. Michael has possibly never gotten over the fact that Harry won Ginny's heard and obviously was too afraid that Harry may develop a sudden interest in his new crush, Luna Lovegood.

Harry had none of these intentions.

Just as Luna replied for Michael's greeting, Harry strode towards them, grasped the handle, muttered: "Hi, I'll be downstairs right away," and separated them by closing the door.

Once alone, Harry briskly got dressed into the best clothes he had. The black trousers and white shirt suited him well, even though they were a bit large for his presently slimmer figure. He splashed the cold water over his face to wipe sleepiness from his eyes, adjusted his glasses and rake up his hand through the wild mane of his black hair. A moment later he was already running down the stairs and opening the door to the large living room.

"Merry Christmas, Harry!"sounded practically from every corner and he joyously responded, while his eyes searched for Ron and Hermione. He found them by the Christmas tree and quickly came over. He received two quick hugs and wishes from both of them and he wished them the same before he finally sat beside them looking at the small pile of presents with his name, which was already sorted out.

"Wow, Santa likes me," he said with a happy chuckle.

"Or, more likely, your fangirls like you. Beware of the love potions, Harry. Most of those gifts came with the early mail," Hermione warned him as she tried to open one of her presents.

Ron budged up a little, nervous from accidentally getting affected by some of Harry's gifts. He still too clearly remembered his own experience with these potions.

"I'll be careful," Harry promised and started opening the presents. He pulled at the largest one, curious about it's content. He unpacked the first wrapping only to discover there was another one beneath. When he was by the fourth one Ron began to snigger quietly. Harry shoot him a quick glare, unpacking even more furiously than before. Finally he tore the last covering apart and opened the large box – and his breath hitched in his throat.

There was – he couldn't believe it – an absolutely wonderful broom.

"Firebolt, version II," he read aloud as he found his breath. He opened the envelope with trembling fingers and tried to read it. Hermione noticed how he squinted his eyes and murmured towards Ron. "We should have rather bought him new glasses." Harry nearly didn't hear her, too focused on the letters as he read aloud. "To Harry Potter from the members of D.A."

He slowly stood up, looking around the room. Everyone was silent, but smiling, waiting for his reaction.

"Th … thank you." It was embarrassing; he really stuttered, but he was too moved.

He didn't remember how many times he told them how much he missed his good old Firebolt. His friends weren't deaf to his wishes. His true friends … he was so lucky...

"Thank you," he said again. "I love you guys. All of you. I mean it." Then he sat down and quickly began to unpack the other gifts before his face could get a color of a beetroot.

"We love you too, Harry," Luna proclaimed and Harry's resistance was broken, his face flushed on that instant. Just like Michael's. Luna simply had to speak her mind, no matter what she thought at the moment.

Fortunately, Hermione squeezed Harry's shoulder which helped him take in some fresh breath and not to swoon from the lack of oxygen in his lungs.

No, no, he should not think about that. Luna wasn't his type. He admired girls with long, pale, beautiful legs.

Suddenly, a forbidden image of such perfect legs appeared before his eyes. Legs … which however didn't belong to a woman. Legs which he should have never seen.

A small squeak escaped his lips before he could stifle it with his hand. His eyes were widely open, yet unseeing.

_How could he think about that! He forbid himself to remember that!_

His heart hammered in his chest so wildly that he though for a moment it's going to rip his ribcage open.

"Harry, are you all right, mate?" Ron's deep voice asked him worriedly.

"Harry?" Hermione joined him.

He forced himself to give a stiff nod.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he even whispered, not fully trusting his voice yet. He began to unwrap his other gifts again, fully focusing on keeping his face relaxed without any nervous twitching. The next present felt very soft beneath his hands. He unfolded the wrapping paper - and his heart stopped again, just a minute after the previous shock. He gasped for breath like a fish out of water when his shaking fingers touched the content of package. He couldn't believe his eyesight. Before him lay a piece of garment which probably saved his life. It was a piece of garment he presented to his enemy in exchange for his survival. It was his _sweater _with the same big H on the chest, a lovely gift from Molly Weasley. He recognized the warm, brown color of it – he recognized everything. He looked up and met her eyes, she smiled at him kindly, but he couldn't reciprocate, no matter how hard he tried. Worse, he couldn't imagine himself wearing it ever again, because he would have to think about what happened. He would have to think about _him_ and that was something he _didn't want to_.

"Harry, are you sure you're all right? You seem very pale all of a sudden," Hermione asked him quietly.

"I … I'm fine," Harry stuttered again from the depths of his compressed lungs.

Pushing the pullover aside he began to quickly open everything with his name on it. He needed to distract himself. Desperately.

_Was Voldemort also celebrating Christmas at the moment? Of course he wasn't. He told him so. But where was he... What he was doing... Damn it, he must not think about __**him**__! __**Ever**__!_

Chocolate, chocolate, chocolate and chocolate. His fangirls weren't very imaginative. It didn't even draw him away from thinking about his archenemy!

Finally his fingers found a box which didn't look like a sweet-box full of love potion.

He looked at the sign, but it only read his name, unlike the mass of candy he checked before.

He sighed in relief and cut open the ordinary looking paper. Inside there was only a small black box. Without waiting another second, he opened it, only half curious about what was inside.

The box fell out of his hand with a quiet thud.

The darkness enveloped him for a second and then someone was leaning over him, talking to him. Shaking him.

"Harry!"

"HARRY!"

Right, he heard voices again.

"Harry, what's wrong with you?"

Was that Arthur Weasley? Probably yes. And right beside him was Ron and Hermione. And behind them the rest of the people in the room. He didn't care very much.

"He certainly ate some of that poisoned chocolates!" Ron grunted and swore.

"That … box," he stuttered heavily.

"Harry?" Arthur asked, leaning closer to him.

"Give me … that black box, please," he muttered again.

"Out of my way!"

All of a sudden Molly appeared by his side.

"Drink this Harry. You're so very weak, no wonder you fainted!"

She forced some hot, disgustingly sweet liquid down his throat. He coughed a little but drank it obediently. A moment later he really started to feel better and sat up, refusing their help.

"Thank you … you don't have to help me ... I'm fine, really."

"You always say you're fine Harry. Even when you're not!" Hermione scolded him.

"Can I get that black box, please," Harry repeated, hoping, secretly hoping that what he saw was just a phantasm caused by his momentary weakness.

"This one?" Neville asked, giving him exactly what he asked for.

"Yeah," he whispered, taking it and looking inside again. Carefully.

And yet it was there.

Resting innocently in the black satin were … his glasses.

The glasses he was sure he would never see again.

He bit his lip hard to suppress a moan of desperation. There was only one person on the whole planet who could have sent him that gift.

The last person on Earth he would ever expect to give him something unless it was a time bomb.

He wanted to faint again.

Voldemort sent him a gift.

Voldemort … sent … him … a … gift.

And what a wonderful gift it was. He missed his old glasses very much and now they were here and looked just like before. Maybe even better. And Voldemort knew … he definitely knew how much he missed them.

What could it possibly mean?

Maybe he lost his mind … or maybe Voldemort lost his mind. Come to think of it, they both could easily lose their minds without even knowing about it. Yes, it seemed to be a perfect explanation.

"HARRY!"

Oh, someone was talking to him again. Hermione. Yes, it had to be her. He focused on his surroundings again.

"He certainly needs a _long_ rest," Michael said quietly to Luna standing beside him, but he heard him quite clearly. Surprisingly, it didn't offend him. He had other, more urgent thoughts in his mind.

Harry pulled himself together and stood up, which proved to be surprisingly simple. The liquid Molly gave him supplied him with unexpected amount of energy.

"We … we'll talk later, okay? I just … have to check something."

His friends still watched him worriedly.

"I'll be right back," he muttered, squeezing the black box in his hand and speedily backing off of the room.

_**R&R**_

**Author's very short note: **And I'll be hopefully back soon as well with a new chapter. Until then, you can always review (wink, wink).

* "He (Voldemort) took your blood believing it would strengthen him. He took into his body a tiny part of the enchantment your mother laid upon you when she died for you. His body keeps her sacrifice alive, and while that enchantment survives, so do you and so does Voldemort's one last hope for himself." - HP7 page 373. Just a note for you to know what I was referring to. ;)


	30. Sheena

**Author's note: **First of all, thank you very much for all those amazing, encouraging reviews. To show you that you're really motivating me in writing, I'm already updating again. For those who were waiting for more H/V, I hope you will find this chapter satisfactory enough.

_**(Parseltogue)**_

**Sheena**

_Grimmauld Place 12__, London_

_25__th__ December 2000, __08__:30_

"NO!" Harry screamed his refusal and hurled the little black box to the opposite corner of the bathroom, where he hid himself in haste.

His legs felt weak after carrying him upstairs in frantic sprint. His knees buckled and gave out under assault of his weight. He slowly sank to the bathroom floor, gasping for breath, his choking sobs slowly turning into hiccups.

_This couldn't be possible. It wasn't happening._

"No," he whispered again, fisting his hair, tugging at separate strands in desperation. His glasses – his precious rounded glasses – lay innocently on the tiled floor, few inches from the cursed box where they were hidden. They shone with a radiance of perfection, yet Harry would rather found them filthy and shattered.

Maybe because he alone felt filthy and shattered for being here among his friends, for coming back after saving Voldemort's life. He returned after committing the act of utmost treachery.

What was worse, Voldemort didn't curse this glasses, Harry didn't die after touching them, which meant Voldemort was by all means grateful and this thought made Harry truly sick. He felt a sudden urge to retch, but not because he knew he was in favour of his enemy, but because somewhere deep inside his little treacherous chest monster purred happily.

He was despicable. He couldn't stand being in his own skin.

Another desperate sob tore through his throat, shaking his whole body.

He was unworthy being around people who cared for him so dearly.

"Harry! Harry!"

He turned his head and saw Hermione kneeling beside him, terrified expression written all over her face. Harry then realized that his own face was all wet from tears, he tasted salt on his lips. Unfortunately, it was too late to wipe them off, she already saw everything.

"Harry, what's wrong with you?"

"Harry!" Ron knelt on the other side of his numb body. "Harry talk to us!" He gripped his shoulders, shaking him fiercely.

Harry took in a long, shuddering breath. How could he possibly tell them? Even thought he wanted to … he most desperately wanted to throw off the shame that was stiffing his breath. Only he wouldn't survive seeing them turning their faces away from him in disappointment and disgust.

So he stared ahead, unresponsive.

"Harry," he heard Hermione whisper fearfully, her soft hand caressing his face.

"Mate … I don't know what's wrong with you … but SNAP OUT OF IT!" Ron yelled into his ear, making Harry wince slightly.

He tried to speak, but his throat wasn't ready yet. The image of their horror and disappointment after they learned the truth was still before his eyes.

He tried to deal with it. He tried to accept his decision. He even told them a part of it. But they didn't really understand. They would certainly hate him if they learned everything. Harry knew that much. And he didn't know what he would do without them. His life would become meaningless. He might as well search out Voldemort and ask him to finish it. He would do him a favor in return.

Hermione said something he didn't quite catch, then suddenly got up and came over to the black box on the floor. A strong shudder ran through Harry's spine as she leaned down and her fingers grazed over the glasses briefly.

"Don't touch it!" Harry yelped. His vocal cords began to cooperate again.

She removed her hand, her brows furrowed in slight confusion. She glanced between Harry and the glasses several times, before she came to some conclusion and nodded stiffly.

"It's a …_ gift_ … from You-Know-Who, right?"

Harry's heart stopped. His every movement, everything ceased.

Ron beside him nearly fainted. He tumbled over, strange sounds gurgled in his chest before a scream came out.

"WHAT?-!"

"Calm down, Ron!" Hermione snapped, holding Harry's gaze.

"Harry," she inquired, "Am I right? Is this a gift from You-Know-Who?" she spoke more quietly and yet more insistently.

"Yes," he choked, tears once again nearly spilling from his eyes. He would never lie to his friends, no matter how bitter the truth was.

"H... h... why would … how do you know?" Ron finally stuttered out. His shock seemed to be endless.

"It's simple Ron," she spoke calmly, trying to stay as rational as ever. She failed a bit though. Her fingers nervously clutched the denim of her skirt. "Harry told us that _Vol- _You-Know-Who..." she corrected herself after Ron's gasp, "destroyed his spectacles. Logically, it had to be him who sent them back. The question is why."

Harry finally, finally after a tormentingly long moment breathed in and slowly exhaled. He repeated the action several times after his erratic heartbeat, which he could once again feel against his chest bone calmed down a little.

"I don't know," he said shakily. "I don't know why would he do that. He left no message, nothing."

"Then he wants you to die!" Ron yelled out. "Harry, did you touch it? Did you touch IT?-!" The panic grew in his voice every second. He obviously expected Harry to drop dead on the floor any moment.

Before could Harry say a word, Hermione responded.

"I did."

Ron screamed in horror.

"It's not cursed Ron," she went on. "If it was, I would be already dead. Besides, if you don't know, no harmful packets would ever get through the Order's close supervision."

"And what about those love potions?" Ron immediately protested.

"They can't kill you, if you haven't noticed!"

"They nearly killed me, if you don't remember!"

"But it wasn't a love potion!"

"If I weren't intoxicated I would never..."

"Never what? You would never drink Slughorn's poisoned oak-matured mead? Don't make me believe that!"

"It doesn't matter!" Harry interrupted them. "Okay?"

"Right," Hermione fumed.

"So what are we going to do?" Ron asked, clueless.

"What can_ I _do?" Harry specified the question and shrugged his shoulders, searching for the answer in their faces. Then he leaned forward and overcame the short distance separating him from Hermione on his hands and knees. Once there, he reached for the item Voldemort sent him and took it in his hand.

"Harry," Ron moaned, still afraid of the consequences. Even Hermione whispered.

"Harry, wait."

She extended her arm flicked her wand several times above the object. Nothing happened.

"Is it all right?" Harry asked.

"I think so," she whispered but bit her lip nervously. Harry hesitated for another couple of seconds before resolutely taking off the angular spectacles, which were only giving him a constant headache.

"Harry, you're certainly not going to put them on, right?" Ron asked quickly.

"It's just glasses, Ron" Harry replied, making a final decision.

"Harry!" Ron whined in protest and came to kneel beside him. But Harry was already determined to test them. He wanted to know whether they were as good as the old ones. Quickly, before he could change his mind he pushed them up the bridge of his nose. The shape of the spectacle frame felt pleasantly familiar on his face. He sighed and opened his eyes slowly.

And blinked.

Everything seemed so sharp and focused that it made him gasp. He noticed tiny cracks in the tiles on the floor, little particles of dust flying in the sun rays coming through the narrow window and also fine lines forming on Hermione's forehead as she wrinkled it in worriment.

"Are you all right?" she asked anxiously.

"Never better," Harry mumbled. "This is really amazing. I see even better than before..." His enthusiasm, however, lasted very shortly. The smile which began to form on his lips froze as he looked at his friends, who clearly didn't like it.

"That's very suspicious," Ron finally muttered. "Are you absolutely sure there's nothing wrong with it?"

"Yeah, positive, Ron."

"So … you want to keep them?" there was evident disapproval in Ron's voice.

"They are my glasses, Ron. Of course I want to keep them," Harry held his own. Now, when his headache was nearly gone and he could see perfectly, he didn't care anymore whose gift it was.

"Hermione...," Ron whispered, searching for a support by his girlfriend. She stopped scratching her temple and put a disobedient lock of her hair behind her ear.

"It's Harry's decision, Ron. If he wants to keep them then stop convincing him otherwise. Still, I would like to check those glasses once more, if you don't mind, Harry."

"Not at all," Harry nodded.

"But first, let's go downstairs. I promised Molly to help her with preparations for Christmas dinner."

They left the bathroom and Ron, who was still a bit distempered, went ahead while Hermione and Harry slowly followed him. She used the moment alone and caught Harry's sleeve. He leaned to her as she whispered.

"You saved him, right? That's why he sent it to you. That's why he's so … grateful."

Harry shivered and quickly turned to face her.

"He saved me first, Hermione. Trust me, _please_. After that I couldn't … I couldn't refuse to help him!"

His throat narrowed as he nervously glanced into her warm, brown eyes.

"Harry, of course I trust you. I'm sure you'll always do the right thing in the end, but … rather don't tell Ron about this particular matter."

Then she gave him a short nod and rushed downstairs after her boyfriend.

In that moment Harry felt as if a hundred pound boulder fell off his heart.

_London, the Ministry of Magic_

_25__th__ December 2000, 08:10_

It was Christmas. Families were supposed to spend this time together. Draco usually hated muggle holidays but Christmas were different. This special day had the same tradition in wizarding world as it had in muggle word.

Draco never said it aloud but he used to love it. His mother and father were kinder than usual, even Bellatrix, when she came to a visit, was unusually pleasant and almost tolerable. And he used to get fantastic gifts – the fastest brooms, the best Quidditch equipment and many other things his father bought him to show his high statute. He could always boast before his classmates about having new boots made of Unicorn's leather, belt clasp adorned with Goblin's silver, or a new cloak with lining of dragon's slivers. He always had everything the other kids could only dream about.

Until now.

His childhood was over.

His father was dead.

He would never enjoy Christmas with him again.

Ever.

This Christmas Day was going to be his last anyway as he was merely waiting to become a meal for one of those bloodthirsty monsters who prowled behind the door of his chamber.

Draco's trembling finger touched the little drop of water running down the glass of the window.

The soft morning light entered his provisional bedroom an hour ago, but Draco knew better. This false sunshine didn't hurt the monsters badly. The disliked it, but it couldn't cause them real harm. They could attack him any moment.

His fingers scratched the smooth surface as a sudden pain constricted his throat.

He didn't want to die and become a vampire like his father. He desperately wanted to live, but there was no way out of this nightmare. Even if he managed to escape, where would he hide now when the Dark Lord was back?

Draco was certain of his return as he felt a horrendous, never ceasing burn in his left forearm letting him know that he, in spite of himself, was ignoring his Master's summoning order. He couldn't go back. His Lord would certainly kill him for failing in his mission and for betraying him on behalf of his greatest enemy, Dragomir Negura. And even if he managed the impossible and avoided the death by the Dark Lord's hand, sooner or later some Auror would catch him and kill him. No one would show a mercy to a Death Eater. Being hunted by whole the world, there was no reason to run.

Draco furiously wiped tears rolling off his eyes. He was trained not to feel regret and self-pity, but how could he stay emotionless now, when his life was nearly over?

He didn't know. What did he ever do wrong?

Maybe that's how Potter felt all the time, being the Dark Lord's primary target. Draco had no idea how could Potter deal with that. Where did he take the power to get up and go on, after all the things that happened to him? Draco almost wished he could talk to him and ask him for an advice.

Though, it most likely wouldn't be helpful. Draco couldn't live like an outcast. He would sooner or later give up anyway.

His head felt too heavy and he propped it against the window frame. Maybe his fate was inevitable. There was only one thing he desperately hoped for. He didn't want his father to kill him. Anyone, but not his father. And with this disturbing thought he surrendered to new nightmares waiting for him in his sleep.

_London, Grimmauld Place 12_

_25__th__ December 2000, 14:30_

"Mmmm, Mrs. Weasley, your roast turkey is simply delicious!" Dedalus praised Molly's culinary art for what had to be a thousand times. He was also the last one still eating as the rest of them was finished, replete and pleasantly tired.

Harry was sitting by the table too, half listening to Angelina and George making plans of a Quidditch tournament, half paying attention to Hermione. She was reading aloud the newest Daily Prophet with Harry's smiling face filling three quarters of the front page, while on the rest he was declaring his newest victory.

Funny, Harry was only briefly seen in Diagon Alley yesterday and yet according to Rita Skeeter he already offered her the newest and hottest info about his triumphant duel. Harry would really want to remember the moment when he said all those things which she so eagerly wrote about. It made him cringe. The fact that Voldemort might be reading this concoction as well made him cringe twice as much, though he didn't know why. Why should he care, anyway?

But he did. It was intolerable.

"Stop reading it, Hermione," he muttered when he couldn't take it anymore and distractedly stabbed a carrot which he left on his plate.

She looked up and hushed up immediately.

Even Ron, who sat beside her glanced at him and quickly looked away. Harry suspected he still didn't get over the glasses on his nose. Ron was apparently afraid that Harry might go crazy any moment, turn to Voldemort or similar highly improbable thing. He also didn't talk to him and that was what hurt Harry most. Enough to contemplate putting the spectacles back into the box and forward them to the sender. Harry glanced up at Hermione, who noticed their silent battle. She gestured him to stop worrying about it. Ron always needed some time to get used to things which he found uncomfortable. Harry nodded in response, turning his attention to the carrot, unloading his fret on the poor vegetable.

He shouldn't let this inconvenience spoil the pleasant moments with his friends. He opened his mouth to say something but he never finished it.

A horrendous scream coming from the kitchen reached his ears.

It was a shriek which made his blood freeze in veins and lock his limbs in stiffness.

It took him a split second to realize that it was Molly Weasley. Fright paralyzed them all. For the briefest moment everyone stood petrified. Then a chaos broke out. Arthur, Dedalus, Kingsley and George were already in the kitchen before Harry could even raise himself from a chair. He saw Ron sprinting ahead of him as he jumped over the table, his freshly healed leg buckled in a twinge of pain.

He couldn't think of what was going on. He gave into his instincts. His new wand already in his hand, ready to strike to the ground anyone who dared to hurt Molly.

"KILL IT!"

"KILL IT!" someone screamed.

Harry couldn't see what the intruder was over the mass of bodies.

Curses flashed in the air, filling the small room with the smell of burn.

"GET IT! GET IT FROM THE RIGHT SIDE!"

It was Arthur commanding Kingsley, whose wand slashed through the air again. Harry pushed aside someone who was blocking him the view and jumped forward, ready to join the fight when...

"NOOOO!" he screamed so hard that his voice broke in its height.

"STOP IT!" he yelled and desperately threw himself in front of Kingsley's soon to be victim. He raised his arms, trying to stop his friends from killing his snake … his precious … Sheena...

"Stop it! Please! Stop it. She means no harm! Don't kill her! For Merlin's sake don't kill her!"

Finally, after an endless moment his friends stopped their frenzied attempts on the animal which writhed behind Harry's back. He breathed hard, trying to ignore her cries which were causing him nearly a physical pain. He bit his lip hard enough to feel blood. He was scared, too scared to turn around and see the damage.

Everyone in the room gasped for breath as well, staring at Harry as if they saw him for the first time.

"I'll explain everything, but please, don't kill Sheena! She's … she's my friend," he whispered haltingly, his voice broken.

"Bloody hell … what … what is this?-!" Ron sputtered out, glaring at him darkly.

"First the glasses and now this? What's this snake doing here?-!"

"What does it mean, Harry?" Arthur also asked, his voice calmer than Ron's as he helped his terrified wife on feet.

The rest of them only stared, silent, waiting for Harry to speak.

"It's Sheena," Harry repeated, realizing that her name didn't explain anything. He had to pull himself together and explain his friends her origin and the reason why she was here.

"I … I first met her when I was ten," he gulped hardly, trying to regain control of his voice. "My aunt and uncle took me to the zoo for the first time in my life. I found her in a reptile house … and I accidentally set her free. I made her so happy that time, freedom meant so much for her..."

Harry paused, still afraid to turn his head at the injured snake behind him.

"Then, " he continued, "I hadn't seen her for years. I admit I'd forgotten about her. I thought that maybe she somehow really reached her home, Brazil. It was her dream after all... However, six moth ago I, Ron and Hermione went to the same zoo and I saw her there again. In the same tank … after all those years... It was naive of me to think that she would make it … they of course caught her and made her a prisoner for life again..."

His voice began to break again. His fingers curled in pain at hearing her cries. They couldn't hear it, only he could and it was a real torture. He needed to finish his explanation and so he forced himself to speak again.

"I couldn't leave her there. The next night I returned for her and … stole her. I promised her to take her home on the first occasion I'll have..."

Harry looked up into their faces. He saw there confusion, disapproval and also a shame.

"She's not Voldemort's follower, Horcrux or anything! She would never hurt anyone of you! She's a nice companion … I talked to her when I felt alone … she helped me a lot when I was down."

Harry's constricted throat made talking very difficult. But he still tried.

"I'm sorry I haven't told you. I was afraid you might disagree with her being here so I rather asked her to avoid you. She had to be extremely hungry when the smell coming from the kitchen attracted her downstairs. Usually, she only hunts rats in the mansard..."

Hermione was the first one to move. She came over to him and sat down.

"She couldn't hunt in the mansard last week. It was freezing there," she said quietly, apologetically.

"You should have told us Harry, that you have a _pet_," George opted in. "We would have not suspected our mom from seeing things which doesn't exist."

"It was very irresponsible of you, Harry," Arthur finally spoke as well. "However, when I was twenty I was also doing many irresponsible things, I admit."

"I'm sorry," Harry breathed out heavily. "I'm really sorry, but she _really_ is harmless."

"She is huge!" Ron protested, but Harry felt his heart leap in joy that his best friend was no longer glowering at him. He still kept the safe distance, though.

"Since when you like snakes, Harry? Hagrid certainly had a bad influence on you..." Lee, who was leaning against the door frame, chuckled.

"I've never had anything against them…," Harry protested. "Except for that basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets and Naginy, of course."

He looked at Neville and then at Arthur, who still supported his wife.

"Sheena is guilty of no crime. She did not deserve this..."

They didn't say a word to it, merely looked at the floor.

Harry finally gathered courage and turned to the unmoving snake on the floor.

"_**Sheena … Sheena, do you hear me? I'm sorry … I'm so sorry for this...,**_" he hissed quietly.

He took her angular head in his palms, caressing it gently.

"_**Forgive me...**_"

She remained unresponsive, blood gushing from several opened wounds.

"Can anyone of you heal snakes?" Harry asked hopefully, glancing over his shoulder.

They exchanged quick glances before shaking their heads, silent and tense.

"Please, I cannot let her die. She … means a lot for me." Though Harry fought the sharp pain he felt, some of it leaked into his voice. He didn't want his friends feel miserable because another of his mistakes.

"I'll do what I can, Harry," Hermione quietly said.

"I … I'll try to help too," Molly said, surprising everyone. "If she's really Harry's friend, then her condition is mostly my fault."

Before Harry could protest, someone else interrupted him.

"Eh, I have some knowledge of … herbology … I might be of help too," Neville whispered, still staring at the ground.

It was incredibly touching watching them all attend to an animal they despised only because of him. Harry didn't know how to thank them. He tried several times but it didn't seemed enough. As the time went on, they grew more and more serious as their attempts to seal Sheena's wounds one by one failed. Ultimately, even Kingsley joined them, trying to revert the spells he cast, but without any obvious result.

It was many hours later when they gave up their unsuccessful endeavor. Sheena's fate seemed to be sealed. Her life functions became imperceptible and the injury wasn't getting any better. Harry sat beside her, her heavy head in his lap, his palms warming her cold skin. Hermione still tried to attend the wounds, replacing the bandages.

"Percy, Arthur and Kingsley went to search for someone who could help us," she spoke quietly. "I'm sure they'll be back soon."

Harry didn't even raise his head.

"It's useless Hermione," he breathed out. "She's dying. Why did they go outside and risked an encounter with vampires, when there's practically no chance anymore?"

Harry glanced toward the darkness behind window.

"I'm sorry, Harry," she said, looking at him sadly.

"You have no reason to apologize, Hermione. It's only my fault. She had to be starving and I didn't even bother to remember that. This is inexcusable, especially after I learned what does it mean to really suffer from lack of food. If I brought her something from the dinner or if I at least warned you about her presence, nothing would have happened. I'm the only one responsible for this..."

He shook his head.

"If only I could find a way to save her..."

"Harry?"

Surprised, Harry raised his head.

"Yeah?" he asked as he saw Ron standing before him, shuffling his feet nervously.

"I'm sorry for the morning … and for the things I've said."

"It's okay," Harry mumbled, looking back at the snake's head in his palms. "I sort of understand it."

"You really care about her, right?" Ron asked again.

Harry sighed, but nodded anyway.

"Yes. I could talk to her when no one else was around."

"You could always talk to us," Ron protested weakly.

Harry raised his head, looking his friend in the eyes.

"I guess that you and Hermione also wanted to spend some time together … in private. I didn't want to be intrusive."

Ron looked away, slightly embarrassed.

"That's very thoughtful of you Harry, but if you needed anything..." Hermione began but Harry shook his head.

"I was really fine with Sheena..." Harry whispered. "She only said: 'How are you, amigo?' and I already felt better."

"I still haven't expected of you to have … a _pet_ snake," Ron mumbled.

"Why?" Harry countered. "They are not essentially bad creatures. They are a bit lazy, and sometimes moody, but not really bad."

"Well … if you say so but I can't help it. Every time I see the snake … I have to think of You-Know-Who."

Harry's hands suddenly trembled. Voldemort. He didn't think of him during past few hours. And yet he should have. If there was one person who could possibly help Sheena at the moment then it was him. He would certainly know what to do.

But that was also out of the question! How could Harry ever expect a help from _him_? It was an absurd thought! And even if he was so stupid to think that he would help him, where would he find him? It's not like there was a house in London with a sign 'Voldemort's manor' written on the door.

Harry shook his head.

But _still_. Voldemort _loved_ snakes. And he probably didn't represent such a horrendous threat to him as before. He wouldn't kill him on the first occasion. Not after sending him his glasses back. So if he made a clever request … no, no … if he voiced his _plea_ just right, he might be able to save Sheena's life.

His heart started to beat faster. He needed a plan and he needed it _fast_.

"Ron, I need your owl," he said aloud, surprising himself a little. His tongue already made a decision before he internally agreed with it.

Ron blinked, also surprised and then mumbled.

"You mean Pig?"

"Yeah, exactly - I need to … send a letter."

"Ah, okay. He's in my room I guess."

"Thanks Ron," Harry breathed out and ran out of the kitchen in haste.

Harry reached the upstairs in a record time. He breathed in so deeply that it hurt his lungs. He didn't think about what he was going to write, but it had to be something what would make Riddle come. He didn't know what that could be.

He opened the door to Ron's and Hermione's room and ran over to the cage where a small owl impatiently bounced.

"Hello Pig," he greeted him, "would you deliver one letter for me?"

The owl hooted enthusiastically in response.

"You have to be quick, all right?" Harry muttered as he pulled out a small piece of parchment from beneath the cage.

He grasped the old quill, dipped it in the ink and … hesitated.

"Okay, let's do it," he forced himself to press the tip to the parchment and wrote:

_Meet me at Trafalgar Square. Immediately. _

_H.P._

"Merlin, he's gonna cut me alive into tiny pieces after reading this," Harry muttered as his eyes skimmed over the short text. "I'm sure of it," he added as he folded the letter and wrote the name of the recipient on it.

Then he opened the cage and caught the hyperactive owl in his hand. He attached the letter to her leg and whispered.

"Make him read it. And don't get yourself killed, okay?"

Then he opened the window and shuddered as the cold air entered the room. Pigwidgeon writhed in his hand, impatient to deliver the express mail. Harry hesitated only for a second before releasing the small owl from his hand. The bird immediately disappeared in the darkness and Harry closed the window, staring outside for a few long seconds.

Sheena … he must save her. He nodded resolutely, going into his room, taking his long, heavy, warm cloak and also Molly's gift – his brown sweater. So much for his decision never to wear it again. Then he hurried downstairs and into the kitchen. No one was there at the moment, except the barely breathing snake. Harry was glad he didn't need to explain anything to anyone. Especially when he had no idea of what he would tell them. He waved his wand and levitated Sheena's heavy body. He encircled her around his trunk to keep her warm and closed the long cloak over them.

His heart kept on beating faster and faster at the thought of what insanity he was about to do. His friends would definitely stop him if told them who he was going to meet and why. That's why they must not know.

He dipped his finger into a nearly dried bloodstain and quickly wrote a message on the desk of a kitchen unit.

_I'll be right back._

As Harry quietly crept out of the house into the silent night he really, really hoped he will be able to keep his promise.

_London, __Trafalgar Square_

_25__th__ December 2000, __22__:__48_

Harry Apparated close the corner of the Duncannon Street, only several hundred feet from his destination. He waited patiently to be sure that the sound of his Apparation didn't attract involuntary attention. Once he was certain that no one was watching him, he stepped out from behind the robust column of St. Martin-in-the Field's church and looked around the square before him.

And cursed quietly.

How could he ever assume that he will find it empty so early in the evening? What was he thinking? He gritted his teeth at a sight of a rather large group of people standing in front of the National Gallery and then another one close to Nelson's column. There were also several pedestrians hurrying in both directions along the frequented street.

But the worst thing was that the whole square shined. There was so much light coming from so many light sources that any form of a secret meeting with anyone was simply unfeasible. Harry felt a rush of desperation as he slowly set forward to the dominant feature of the square, the Nelson's column with four huge bronze lions around, guarding it silently. As he went, his thoughts were floating miles away. He doubted he made a right decision, even though Hermione still trusted his judgment. He didn't really think this through. Why didn't he wait for a reply before coming here?

Well, he knew why. Sheena didn't have much time left. He felt her slow, twitching movement under his clothing. She possibly started to perceive the coldness coming through his cloak.

"_**Hold on**_," he whispered encouragingly, but his words sounded empty to his ears.

Harry quickened his steps, glad to notice that the people standing before the column were slowly leaving. He briefly glanced backward into the broad store-lined street festooned with Christmas decorations before turning back and bringing the cloak tighter to his body. A sudden gust of cold wind rushed over the square. Harry jumped a little when he heard an empty Coke can rattle over the paving. He prolonged the steps, trying and failing to regain composure. It was funny – as he was approaching those huge dark lions, he felt as if they were really watching him. He had to force himself to shrug this thought off as he halted close to one pillar. Sheena moved again, he felt her large body squeezing his trunk a little.

Harry decided to wait. At first he watched the cars, later the pigeons sleeping in every turn and wrinkle of the statuary.

He stood there for a good five minutes and yet, no sight of the Dark Lord. He started to be really nervous. What was he doing here anyway? Kingsley and others certainly found some healer by now and returned to the Grimmauld Place, looking for him and Sheena, panicking when they noticed that he was gone once again, while he, being an idiot, was waiting for one mighty Dark Lord, who will certainly not come.

"Damn!" Harry cursed again and started to pace quickly. He could still return home. It was not too late. He looked up towards the National Gallery. Some people were still standing there, but it was far enough for them to notice if he Apparated here...

He nodded for himself, took a deep breath and started to prepare himself for the Apparation.

And then it happened.

The lights went off. Suddenly, the whole square drowned in the darkness. For a moment, Harry was totally confused. Could it be just a local blackout? And then, something told him that it wasn't a technical failure. He felt his hair slowly raise at the back of his neck. Someone was watching him. Harry couldn't resist the urge to pull out a wand.

What kind of idiot he was! Why was he here in the first place, he asked himself again. If it weren't of Sheena's state he would never do something so reckless...

Instinctively, he backed to the statue of lion to ensure that his back was protected.

"Voldemort?" he called out, waiting for reply. None came. Could it be also a vampire? Or a Dementor? He wanted to repeat the call but his throat became too narrow.

"Gosh!" he strained through teeth.

His back met the cold stone. As he stood there he extended his senses to maximum, wondering whether he already missed the sound of Apparation. Or could it be that Riddle was able to Apparate soundlessly? It wouldn't surprise him too much. And what if it wasn't his archenemy? He would still have to find a way deal with it.

"Voldemort?" he asked again, his eyes already accommodated to a decrease of light.

Then, a cold, metal tongue licked the back of his neck.

Harry shrieked in a shock and turned around. The huge bronze lion no longer lay on the pedestal. The statue sprang to live, stretching its long body in one fluid movement and then jumping down to the pavement soundlessly.

Harry was at a loss of words.

"I've always wanted to tame a lion," said a high, cold voice from behind him. It made Harry whirl around and gasp for breath.

He was there.

Voldemort.

_He came_.

Harry's mind gone blank. He watched the lion approach the tall, dark figure. Voldemort slowly extend his arm, caressing the lion's metal mane. The statue turned its large head toward him and licked his fingers. Voldemort watched it for a moment before turning his flaming, blood red eyes at Harry.

The young man suppressed a shiver, trying to control his breathing.

This wasn't the same Voldemort who left him and Daniel two days ago. He didn't seem to have anything in common with that man.

This one seemed to be a personification of power. Harry almost felt it radiating from him in waves. Nervously, his eyes moved to the wand in Voldemort's other hand.

Yew wand, of course.

Another shiver ran down his spine as he remembered the torture this wand caused him once.

"Well, I'm here Potter," the well-known cold voice broke the silence.

"I've arrived as you wished. How could I resist such a _pleasant_ invitation from oh-so-_famous_ Boy-Who-Lived?"

Harry instantly knew that Voldemort was mad at him and also what he was referring to. If he wanted to have any chance of surviving this encounter, he had to be diplomatic. He had to forget that slight jerk in his right hand, urging him to cast a disarming curse.

"I don't have a whole night for you, Potter, so rather speak before I'll lose my patience and kill you right on the spot you're standing."

So that's how Snape felt when one wrong sentence separated him from execution, flashed through Harry's mind as he composed some hopefully not very offensive reply.

"I apologize for this," Harry began.

It was a good start, he was still alive.

"The letter was short because I was in a critical lack of time. Concerning me, I didn't do that interview with Rita Skeeter, if the article in today's Daily Prophet is what's offending you."

Voldemort's cat-like eyes narrowed a bit and he stopped touching the bronze lion.

"Then speak, Potter. What is so important that you wished to talk to me in person?" he whispered, a slight nasty undertone still evident in his words.

"Or have you suddenly forgotten our deal? If this is the case, let me remind you. You shall be safe as long as you avoid me. I wouldn't call this avoiding me, Potter."

"No, it's certainly not," Harry agreed. Sheena once again moved beneath his cloak, but the movement was very feeble.

"_**Hold on**_," he hissed out of habit, expecting that no one around would understand him except of her. Well, he was wrong this time.

"Hold on? To what?" Voldemort asked in English, suddenly very suspicious.

"Is this some kind of a trap, Potter? Oh, of course it is. Why else would you suggest a meeting mere a few blocks from Aurors' secret base. So you've decided to try out your luck again? Well, brat, as you wish. I won't give you another chance..."

He raised his wand in the same moment as Harry screamed out.

"It's not a trap! And you're obviously better informed than I am, because I don't know anything about a secret base of Aurors in here. I came here for another reason!"

"And what reason should that be?"

Voldemort remained unmoving, but the bronze lion slowly prowled towards Harry. The youngster didn't want to think about what harm it might cause him if it decided to attack him.

"The glasses," Harry quickly spoke, looking at the Dark Lord.

"I wanted to thank you for the glasses you sent me. And in return I … I have a gift for you as well."

"What?" Voldemort hissed, baring his teeth a little. "You'd better not mock me, Potter. I know you lie! There's nothing you want to give me. I can see it in your eyes. So this has to be some ridiculous attempt to entrap me in the end."

"It's not! You're wrong!" Harry loudly protested, while he contemplated why Riddle didn't deny sending him the spectacles. "If I could choose I would like to explain it somewhere ...eh … preferably warmer."

"Enough!"

Harry's spine froze. He instantly realized that he lost the ability to move his body. That bastard! He dared to curse him without any warning!

"Who are you hiding beneath that cloak, Potter? I can feel a presence of someone else. You thought you can fool me, right? You thought you can lull my attention!"

Riddle moved towards him, slowly. He approached Harry with his wand drawn out and ready to kill anything what might attack him.

His long pale fingers reached for the upper button of Harry's clothing. He unbuttoned it, all his movements very careful and hesitant.

"Don't," Harry managed to breathe out. Fortunately, his ability to speak remained unaffected by the curse.

"You're going to kill her," he whispered, rebellious and defensive.

"You bet I will," Voldemort replied acidly.

Harry had no idea who he expected to find, but he was sure, one hundred percent certain, that Riddle won't kill his 'Christmas gift'. Yes, it was the only solution after all. Harry have to give him Sheena in order to save her life. At this point he couldn't do anything else. He could only hope Voldemort won't be able to spoil her by his nasty ways. He trusted Sheena though. She was just as obstinate as he was.

Third button was undone. Harry felt the cold air running down his chest. Just one more button and he was going to see her.

Yes, now. Riddle lifted the heavy cloth and looked down at a head of seemingly sleeping snake. Harry bit his lip not to grimace at the shocked expression which appeared on the Dark Lord's usually empty face. He noticed how Voldemort's bright red eyes dilated, even his mouth slacked a little. He glanced Harry in the eye in disbelief and then backwards at Sheena's glistering coils. Harry's lips tightened to a bitter smile. Last time he saw Riddle this shocked was during the Priori Incantatem incidentally triggered by the same core of their wands. And also when he found out out that Harry saved his life.

"Happy now?" Harry asked coldly. "She's moments away from freezing to death."

Voldemort didn't reply, only reached out and grazed his spindly fingers over Sheena's slivers.

And then, within an eye-blink he closed Harry's cloak, glaring at him murderously.

"She's hurt, you _brat_. What have you done to her?-!"

"It was … an accident," Harry whispered. He didn't really want to elaborate on it.

Voldemort said nothing to that.

"She's dying," Harry pressed, trying not to look away from the agitated, blood red eyes.

"And you need my help, right?" Riddle asked coldly, mockingly.

"No," Harry whispered. "_She_ needs your help."

Harry knew that this was going to decide it.

Voldemort took a step backwards and then another one. He flicked his wand and the bronze lion jumped back on the pedestal, lying down into the same position as before, then Harry's body relaxed and regained the ability to move and the surrounding darkness was suddenly breached by flickers of heating fluorescent lamps.

"Well then, Potter … follow me," he said coldly, turning around, putting on his cape.

And Harry looked around quickly before obeying his enemy for the first time in his life.

_**R&R**_


	31. The hideout

**Author's note: **First, I have absolutely great news! I have a new amazing Beta, TheSectretUchiha, who kindly corrected this chapter. Thank you! xoxo

Second, I'd like to thank to everyone who reviewed the previous chapter. Wow, 24 reviews, I really didn't expect it! In return I'm posting a new chapter (also a bit ahead of a schedule). Hopefully, you'll enjoy it like the previous one.

(_**Parseltongue**_)

xxxxx

**The hideout**

_London, Trafalgar Square_

_25__th __December 2000, 2__3__:__17_

_Out of all crazy things I've ever done in my life this one is the craziest, _Harry thought nervously as he glanced down from Voldemort's shoulders to his ankles, where the black robes swirled in mesmerizing patterns. It was fascinating to watch the heavy cloth float weightlessly a few inches above the ground. It almost looked like the Dark Lord's feet didn't touch the pavement as he walked.

Harry focused on him solely, regarding every tiny detail of his appearance and compared it to what he remembered from the cave few days ago. He was doing that for only one purpose; he needed to keep himself preoccupied to avoid any traitorous thoughts. If he didn't resist them, he knew for sure that he would contemplate the situation from the point of view of a member of the Order. The temptation to pull out the wand and do something very stupid would be virtually irresistible. Old habits die hard.

But he had to hold back. Harry had to remind himself why he was here. If he gave in the temptation and attacked Riddle mindlessly, not only he would lose, he would also condemn Sheena to death. He would take away her only chance of survival. And this thought hurt him much more than anything Voldemort might have planned for him in the near future.

He pushed the wand deeper in his pocket, deciding to leave it there. Certainly, some of his friends would consider him an egoist for risking his life to save a stupid, unimportant animal. Risking the life dozens of people died to protect. Harry felt horrible for this;nevertheless it wasn't enough to call off this rescue mission. Sheena was his friend, how could he abandon her when she need him most! Especially when her injuries was practically only his fault. And even if Voldemort planned to kill him tonight, he wouldn't back off. He would fight back the best he could. Death didn't really scare him any more. He had to face it too often and for too long. He learned to live with the thought of his mortality.

Mindlessly, his hand touched the scar on his forehead and slowly slid down to a small bruise on his chest right above his heart. He was glad that the breath stifling horror he'd felt when he went into the Forbidden forest to fulfil the prophecy and die for sake of his friends was gone.

There was, however, one thing which really worried him. Harry was aware that in order to save Sheena he not only endangered himself, but also the Order of the Phoenix. If the members they were out now, searching for him through the city, they could be easily attacked by the Death Eaters, not to mention vampires. Or whoever it was in the Ministry who tried to kill him. And if there was something Harry couldn't stand then it was the thought of his friends being in mortal peril because of him.

He bit his lip forcefully, tasting salty-sweet blood. His teeth and tongue brushed against the abused flesh and he winced slightly in pain. He breathed in quickly and let the freezing air cool the injury and chill his constricted lungs as he started to walk faster, falling into a running step to keep up with the Dark Lord's quick stride.

Voldemort was only one step ahead of him now and Harry noticed that he grew more cautious. They slowed down a bit after they crossed Whitehall and reached the pavement on the other side of the street. Riddle halted from time to time (the first time he did, Harry practically collided with him), looking around, listening. Several muggles passed them, walking along in the opposite direction, but strangely the Dark Lord acted as if he hadn't noticed them. He eyed attentively every dark corner and his eyes repeatedly glanced upward to the black windows of the houses around, regarding them closely.

Harry gently squeezed Sheena's body closer to his body as the gusts of a cold wind grew in intensity. He felt for her breath, but her body lay stiff against his, unmoving, lacking signs of life. His desperation returned with a full force. He prolonged his step to fully catch up with the dark wizard.

"Are we going to the Ministry?" Harry asked, speaking for the first time since they left the square. He pretended to be curious to mask his anxiety and irritation. It was no secret that the one of the entrances to the Ministry of Magic was directly along from Whitehall. What Harry couldn't understand was why Voldemort led him there. This wasn't the safest place to stay, especially not for the Dark Lord. Also, he found it aggravating that Riddle was apparently searching for something, although Harry – or more specifically Sheena – didn't have time for his dawdling. They couldn't afford to lose another minute.

"Is something the matter?" Harry insisted when Voldemort didn't reply and kept on glaring into one dark passage.

Finally the Dark Lord slowly turned his head towards him and a pair of murderous blood red eyes bored into the poor youngster with devastating intensity.

"Wasn't it your idea to meet on such a dangerous place, Potter?"

"I..."

"Silence!"

Voldemort's retort was venomous, but very quiet. The dark wizard turned his head towards the passage again, sealing his lips into a tight line.

"**_Someone's after us, _****_right_****_?_**" Harry asked in Parseltongue as this thought suddenly struck him. He looked around attentively, missing Voldemort's brief, involuntary glance. He was too preoccupied by contemplating what would happen if the Aurors or worse, the Order, discovered where he was and whom was his companion. They most likely wouldn't give him an opportunity to explain it. It was indeed a very stressful thought.

He finally looked back only when he heard Riddle's sharp hiss.

"**_Obviously_****_._**"

The dark wizard straightened his back a little, his unnatural eyes turning to examine Harry from head to toe and back.

Harry squirmed slightly, feeling a sudden uneasiness.

"**_Do you kno_****_w who it is_****_?_**" he asked quietly.

"**_S_****_ervants of my greatest enemy, _****_I suppose,_**" Riddle hissed back, his eyes gleaming maliciously.

"The Order?-!" Harry choke out. Honestly, nothing could be worse than this.

"**_Silence!_**"

Harry instantly hushed up, strange feelings growing in his legs. He felt as if they were slowly turning into lead.

"**_Conceited little brat. Do _****_you _****_really _****_think _****_that _****_I consider you as my greatest enemy? _****_By the way_****_, _****_who would have thought that you view _****_your 'friends' as _****_your _****_servants..._**"

Harry stared at him agape for a few seconds. Then he turned purple.

"No … I … I just..."

Voldemort moved. Too fast for Harry's eyes to track him.

Harry's throat closed in shock from losing solid ground beneath his feet. It took him full five seconds to realize that he was suddenly fifty yards above the pavement, getting farther and farther away every second.

"What the...?-!" he stuttered out.

"Do you really want to be an Auror, Potter? Even though you're too blind to see bloodsucking freaks at every corner?" the cold, mocking voice resonated in his ear.

"I'll restrain from killing them now, in sake of my little dying pet..."

Harry's brain was too stunned to process the information correctly. Rooftops flashed beneath him. The street lamps were shrinking considerably, forming a narrow shining line, melting together with the other streets to form seemingly endless glittering web. It was then when Harry became aware of a firm grip on his left armpit, partly restraining his blood circulation.

He looked up, seeing Voldemort's dark silhouette right beside him, his pale face shining, his burning eyes on him and his mouth curved in malevolent amusement. Harry guessed he had to look ridiculous, staring back the way he did. The wind blew wildly around him, tangling his already untidy hair, but strangely he didn't feel cold.

"Scared, Potter?" Voldemort mocked. "I've always thought you liked flying."

No, Harry didn't like flying, he _loved_ flying. On the broom. When he could decide where, how far and how fast he will fly.

But when there was nothing else to support his body beside his enemy's hand, which could stop holding him any second, he lacked any feeling of comfort. He reached out and grasped Riddle's arm in return. If Voldemort decided to drop him he wouldn't make it easy for the bastard.

"You wish," he strained through tightly clenched teeth, finding the ability to speak again.

Mirth quickly disappeared from the Dark Lord's face.

"**_Quit touching me, Potter_**," he hissed rabidly, eyes flaring even more than before.

"You wish!" Harry repeated, tightening the hold.

He quickly looked down, noticing that they just passed the Houses of Parliament and the river Thames lay spread beneath them, black as the sky above. Harry briefly contemplated he might be able to survive such a fall, but Sheena... Sheena would certainly die.

If she was still alive...

"Potter!" Voldemort cried, digging his claws into his flesh.

"Bastard!" Harry screamed back, ire consuming him.

And then the world turned black and Harry felt like someone pushed him through a very narrow rubber tube. In one crazy moment he felt himself shrinking into a size of a pin before expanding again.

His legs finally touched the solid ground and his body slouched against it. His eyes were tightly closed as he fought down the strong shivers.

"Get up Potter!"

Whatever he was sitting on was unpleasantly hard, wet and cold. He touched it with his fingers and identified it as a stone.

"You'd better not make me order you twice!"

Harry opened his eyes. He was in a narrow, dark corridor, which could be easily a part of a film-set from a bad horror movie. The one where you'd expect to meet a spectre at every corner. To add to the scene, Voldemort loomed over him threateningly, his red cat-like eyes gleaming, the tip of his wand an inch above Harry's face.

Harry gulped down every protest crawling up from his mouth. It dawned on him that without any idea where he was and what was going to happen, the situation was quickly getting out of his hand. He had no other choice but to stand up and follow the other wizard. He proceeded to do it without any verbal complaint, while his hand sneaked back into his pocket to keep a secure hold on his wand.

As they walked down the corridor, Harry wondered whether Voldemort took him into his hideout. Should he expect an army of Death Eaters behind the door they were approaching? His imagination zoomed into overdrive, rapidly constructing the nightmarish scene from the graveyard six years ago.

As if knowing what Harry was thinking, the Dark Lord glanced backwards. His lipless mouth twitched a little, but whether to smirk or to frown remained unanswered. He looked back as they came up to a rusty iron door. It opened loudly at the command of Riddle's wand. Fortunately for Harry, no Death Eaters were waiting behind, only a large, empty, unlit hall. As they crossed it in haste Harry partly expected Riddle to halt and cackle evilly about how stupid he was for coming here out of choice and without any resistance.

But he was wrong.

No words were said and he found it all the more distressing.

Upstairs they went and then into another corridor. They left the dungeons; Harry could confirm it as he saw flashes of light coming through the windows they passed. Somehow, the house looked different than Harry expected. He wondered how he would describe it to his friends if he ever got a chance to talk them again.

_Muggle _would be the best word. Yes, it had to belong to muggles once. There was practically no furniture at all, the walls were empty as well, but the architectural style said a lot. It surprised him. Before he could start to form theories about why Voldemort would choose this place for his base, they stopped again before an old-looking wooden door. Voldemort opened it swiftly, silent and authoritarian, gesturing Harry to follow him. Seeing no way back, Harry bit his already pained lip and stepped in.

It was very warm inside, he instantly noticed. Too much for his liking. Also, the air smelled strangely, of sweet fruit and exotic spice. Harry stifled his breath and looked around. There was a massive fireplace on the other side of the dark room, producing an excess of heat and also some illumination. Again, Harry noticed a surprising temperance in the decor and a general lack of furniture. There was just one large bookcase embedded in a bricked wall, a time-honored black cabinet close to the covered windows and a massive mahogany worktable right beside it. On the left he only saw an old, shabby sofa. Harry didn't dare to imagine how dreadfully uncomfortable it had to be to sit or lie on. He glanced back to the fireplace. Alongside stood an ancient-looking armchair with scratched, dark green upholstery and below, on the tiled floor,was an equally coloured dusty rug, partly overlaying the black carpet he was standing on. Harry had no time to make some further inspection as Voldemort knelt down beside the fireplace and indicated him to come closer.

"Lay her down," he said, his high, cold voice devoid of any emotion.

Harry nodded and stripped from his cloak, coming to kneel beside him, positioning the injured snake carefully on the rug.

It was truly fascinating to see how very carefully Voldemort took Sheena's large triangular head in his palm. The yew wand gently grazed over the glittering scales, avoiding large cuts covered with bloodied bandages. Harry heard him hiss something, but it was too quiet for him to puzzle it out. The long pale fingers opened one of the wound dressings, revealing the damage beneath.

It looked even worse than the last time. All the blood Harry saw made his stomach clench.

"How bad is it?"

What a stupid question. Harry wished he could take it back. It was obvious that Sheena's condition could hardly be any worse. The cold glance he received from the Dark Lord confirmed it.

"It's nearly too late."

Harry pressed his lips together to hold back a cry of frustration. He reached out and touched her light brown body, his fingers caressed the narrow dark stripes beneath her closed eyes, the deep brown blotches of her mimic coloring, her curled tail, brighter and more colourful then the rest of her body. She was really huge; an adult Boa constrictor, nearly nine feet long.

And he was about to lose her forever. The pain rose from the depth of his lungs through his throat, filling his eyes with tears. He closed them tightly, fighting to keep his voice steady as he spoke.

"Save her … please … _please_ save her. I beg you … save her."

When he didn't get an immediate response he looked up from Voldemort's long chalk fingers to his face.

"I could spend some time listening to your begging, Potter," the Dark Lord smirked and their eyes met for a split of second. Then the older wizard rose to his feet and disappeared out of Harry's sight range.

"But it wouldn't serve my purpose. She belongs to me now, is that correct?"

Harry gritted his teeth, but nodded anyway.

"Good."

Voldemort returned just as Harry tried to lay Sheena's heavy head on his lap.

"Keep her head down," Voldemort said curtly and Harry obeyed without hesitation.

"And now, you will assist me Potter," he said coldly.

"You will do exactly what I say."

Once again Harry shortly nodded.

"Very good." The dark wizard opened his palm, revealing a small vial with a limpid liquid inside.

"You will apply one drop of this potion into each wound on my command."

Harry reached out for the vial without hesitation. As he took it, his heated fingers incidentally grazed over Voldemort's tepid palm. The contact was only very brief and maybe that was the reason why none of them flinched visibly. Still, Harry felt his body temperature rise exponentially, but he arrogated it to sitting next to a roaring fireplace and wearing a heavy sweater. He watched silently how Voldemort removed the rest of bandages, taking them away carefully, before showing Harry the places where he was supposed to apply the potion. Just as Harry did that, the Dark Lord raised his wand, sealing the opened wound in what seemed to be a completely effortless manner. Harry gazed at it, speechless. He couldn't compare it to anything he had ever seen before. Voldemort's magic was simply on a different level. For a moment he felt distinctly insignificant and understood why Riddle's followers were so ecstatic about his magical art.

He knew very well how much Voldemort was obsessed with power. He also knew how destructive that power could be. He just never witnessed how beneficial it could be when it was used in a good way. And he could only deeply regret that it was probably the first - and also the last - time he was allowed to see it.

Voldemort finished the whole procedure within two minutes. It was all he needed to heal Sheena's most serious injuries. Then he straightened his back and dipped his hand into a hidden pocket in his robes, pulling out another, substantially larger vial. He took Sheena's limp head, opened her chops and poured its content inside.

Harry recognized the smell of the liquid right away and raised an eyebrow.

"Blood-Replenishing Potion?" he asked.

The Dark Lord didn't deem it worth a reply. His pale hands slowly left her body and he gazed at her for several long seconds before he finally said.

"She's better now, but the next hour will decide."

Harry felt a little relieved. To him the most important thing was that Sheena still had a chance. The only remaining question was what about him. He gathered the courage and looked up to meet Voldemort's intense stare, something most people would never dare to do.

There was something he had to ask and he would prefer not to sound frightened. He cleared his throat, nodded and spoke firmly.

"Well … err … thank you. Will you kill me now?"

xxxxx

_London, __Whitehall_

_25__th__December 2000, 2__3__:__22_

Lucius Malfoy attentively wiped away small drops of blood which remained on his chin, dirtying his small white hankie. He was always very meticulous when it came to the table manners. That's why he noticed with a certain displeasure several crimson freckles on his emerald green vest. He grunted peevishly and pushed his small hand-glass back into his pocket. He still lacked the practice, that was all. He looked down at a poor homeless who gazed unseeingly at the dark sky and snapped his jugular spine with his heavy boot, brutally stopping the transformation. This was only his second victim in total, the first one that he hunted alone. He'll certainly improve in this soon, he mused.

As he lifted his foot, another thought occurred to him. Who would have though that a muggle can taste this good? It was without a doubt that, if he was his old self, he would never even lay a finger on such a filth.

But now … he didn't really mind. He surpassed the humans. He was even better than wizards.

Now, they were nothing but his nourishment.

His lips curved to form a cruel smile. Now when his thirst was gone for a while, he was ready to fulfill the task for his Leader. He pulled on his cape to protect his sharp eyesight from the piercing artificial light and glided along the shadows towards his destination. He stopped by a narrow dark passage, steeping inside, instantly accepting a decrease of the light.

"My, my … who do we have here? A little suckling?"

Lucius recognized the voice immediately. It was incredible how much his mental capacities increased. He could hear, understand and remember things that he could only dream about as a mere mortal.

"Nestor Desalmado," he smirked. "What is a member of the Council doing here? Have you fallen into disfavor of our dear Leader? Does he no longer find your _services _satisfactory enough? There must be a reason why he sent you to do such a derogatory task as is safeguarding the entrance to the Ministry."

A young handsome man stepped out of shadow into a narrow stripe of light coming from the street. He was dressed in a perfect anthracite suit according to the latest muggle fashion. His gray eyes were just a little darker than Lucius' own, yet there was a dangerous gleam in them. His lips quirked upwards as he spoke:

"You have a wicked tongue, Lucius. Watch it or you might find yourself losing it."

"I'm hardly afraid of your pitiful threats," Malfoy raised his head, feeling dominant as he over topped his companion of several inches.

"Everyone underestimates me … and that's my greatest advantage," the young-looking vampire smirked and combed his dark, shoulder length hair with his fingers.

"But to answer your question, no, I have not fallen into Dragomir's disfavor. The fact that you don't know what's going on and who's coming here every moment only shows that the Leader wants to test your loyalty. Not that you could possibly betray him, of course..."

"And what sort of test should it be … confronting Voldemort perhaps?" Lucius asked calmly, finding out that he no longer was afraid of that name.

Nestor's lips twitched in amusement.

"Very good guess, but you won't be facing him exactly. We need some information," he whispered, lowering his voice beneath the limit of audibility of common humans. Lucius still heard him perfectly.

"He'll be soon forced to join us and I'm sure he'll also replace you in the position of Leader's little pet. For some time at least. Get prepared for it, so you won't be unpleasantly surprised."

Before Lucius could find a thoroughly biting reply, he heard steps. Too many for one person, he realized. And then he registered voices. None of them belonged to the Dark Lord he noted a second later. Then a small group of muggles passed along their hideout. He smirked and turned toward Nestor to tell him that he was disappointed by his poor presumption, but the other vampire froze for a moment, listening.

"He's coming now," Nestor breathed out, baring his teeth a little. "I absolutely adore the smell of true power in a wizard's blood. That's what is so fascinating about dark lords. And also very dangerous... The are truly the elite."

Lucius closed his mouth and breathed in deeply.

Yes, he could smell it too. It was really very exciting experience. It almost tempted him to get out of the passage, fall on his knees, pretend to beg for mercy and then, in one unguarded moment … attack.

"The Dark Lord belongs to Dragomir, Lucius." Nestor whispered as if he knew what he was thinking. Maybe he did, because it was rather obvious.

"And even if he didn't, you wouldn't be able to get to his neck. He would kill you before you even tried..."

The steps quickly approached them. Yes, he could recognize them perfectly, but...

"He's not alone," Lucius breathed out.

"Correct, suckling...," Nestor smirked, satisfied.

"Is that...," Lucius listened harder, "Is that ... Potter?"

Just as he said those words a couple of wizards appeared right before the entrance of the passage.

Lucius stiffened when he was instantly subdued to the Dark Lord's intense stare. It seemed as if the dark wizard was able to see him even through the thick cover of shadows. What shocked him even more was a presence of one of his previous Master's most despised and hated enemies … Harry Potter. The brat stood freely beside Voldemort, looking around as if he was trying to see someone who might be watching them.

"Is something the matter?" Potter casually asked all of a sudden. Lucius' jaw dropped as he watched the Dark Lord slowly turn his head away from him to look at his young companion.

"Wasn't it your idea to meet on such a dangerous place, Potter?" he spoke coldly.

The vampire gasped for breath he didn't really need anymore.

_They actually planned this meeting?_

"I...," the young man stuttered, before the Dark Lord cut him off.

"Silence!"

"It's hard to believe what you see, isn't it young one?" Nestor whispered into his ear as Potter hissed something incomprehensible at the Dark Lord.

"Why isn't he killing him?" Lucius muttered, his eyes still glued to the scene.

"Well, what do we know about Voldemort's current situation … hmm … he knows that our Leader is after him … that must be very stressful for the poor mortal. Then, he has no army; no one can protect him and die for him. His precious Horcruxes have been destroyed … poor Dark Lord, he must be so desperate … desperate enough to hope to find help from one of his greatest enemies," Nestor chuckled quietly into his ear.

Lucius turned to look at him, displeased.

"How do you know all these things?"

"Well, I am a member of the Council, Lucius. You said it by yourself. No need to worry though, I wouldn't be telling you anything the Leader wouldn't want you to know."

"Then what about Potter. What is he doing here?" Lucius hissed, turning back to the two wizards who currently argued in Parseltongue.

"Potter is a mystery," Nestor admitted. "We don't know much about him … from the personal point of view at least. Maybe you could help us. What do _you_ think he's up to?"

"I'm not sure what to think," Lucius said after a moment.

"I would be prone to believe that the brat is Voldemort's prisoner … but it doesn't really look that way. That reckless dolt always wanted to bring about the Dark Lord's downfall – I don't believe that he's cooperating with him … willingly."

Suddenly, Voldemort moved forward, grasped Potter's arm and flew high up.

"Are we going to follow them?" he asked, turning towards the other vampire.

"No," Nestor whispered. "It's not time yet."

He rubbed his chin bemusedly and spoke again.

"This situation represents a certain complication."

Then he sighed softly and combed his hair again.

"Dragomir had a plan with Potter. He wanted to use Voldemort's hatred towards the boy to lure him into a trap. He would then turn Voldemort into one of us and offered him that idiot as a first meal. I'm afraid that it won't work that way anymore. The Leader's going to be very disappointed."

"I see..." Lucius whispered.

Nestor just shook his head.

"It doesn't matter. I'm sure Dragomir will find a way to use this situation for his benefit..."

Several loud pops accompanying the Apparation interrupted their discussion.

Lucius looked up at the street and immediately recognized two wizards and one witch who quickly hurried towards the gate to the Ministry.

"The Order of the Phoenix," he muttered. "They are probably searching for Potter."

"My, my...," Nestor smirked, satisfied. "This could be the benefit I was talking about. I think we should accompany our guests to the Leader, what do you think, Lucius?"

"I don't think it will be necessary," Lucius smirked. "The morons obviously want to visit him of their own will."

"Let's keep an eye on them, so they won't go astray."

"Certainly."

Malfoy's smirk widened as they both silently advanced on unsuspecting magicians.

xxxxx

_London, __the Dark Lord's hideout_

_25__th __December 2000, 2__3__:__56_

The following seconds were probably the longest in Harry's life. He refused to break their eye contact, no matter how unpleasant the experience could become. The Dark Lord's face was like a mask, completely blank and unreadable. Except one brief tightening of his lips, not a single muscle moved on his face.

Then the older wizard slowly rose to his full height and began to unbutton his heavy cloak. Harry watched him with a morbid fascination. He knew that he should be thinking about how to get out of this place alive but somehow his brain wasn't functioning properly. Instead, he found himself paying attention to small black buttons slipping through narrow holes of the Dark Lord's outer robes. He didn't even remember when he looked down to watch the white, long fingers glide over the black cloth. The heat he felt was suddenly all consuming.

Voldemort shed his cloak from his shoulders, revealing soft, black, silky robes beneath. Then he leisurely strolled towards his worktable and took a small brazen goblet and a piece of parchment from the desk. He quickly drank whatever content was in the cup and looked back at Harry.

"I suppose I should kill you," he finally spoke, calmly and evenly, while crumpling the parchment and throwing it back at the desk. "And I wouldn't hesitate to do it if I hadn't failed multiple times before. There is something telling me that it wouldn't work again."

He looked back at Harry, who still knelt by Sheena's side, then lay aside the goblet and slowly advanced on him.

"Because it never works with you, Harry, and I wonder why...?"

Harry held his gaze resolutely, secretly clutching at his wand in the pocket, while his other hand wiped away copious amount of sweat from his brows and neck.

"You certainly don't expect me to give you the answer," he said with a slightest mockery, licking his dried lips.

A nearly imperceptible smirk appeared on the Dark Lord's face.

"No. There's nothing about you that I don't already know. According to my opinion you're just a little..."

Harry couldn't bear it anymore. The fireplace was producing so much of heat that he felt like his body liquids start to boil if he stays like this for another second. He grasped the hem of his sweater and pulled it over his head. The relief was instantaneous and incredible. The sweaty T-shirt stuck to his bare skin, cooling him pleasantly. He closed his eyes for a second and sighed, voicing the easement he felt.

"...lucky brat."

Strange, Voldemort's cold, even voice wavered a bit when he said the last two words.

Harry looked up at him and licked his dry lips again. His skin tasted salty. It felt gross bathing in sweat like that. He wondered whether he already stank terribly. But Voldemort had to bear with it. He smirked secretly and pushed the wet hair away from his forehead.

However, as he just noticed, there was something really weird about the way Riddle was staring at him right now. Harry couldn't decipher the meaning correctly. It wasn't exactly a threatening glare, it wasn't even a curious gaze...

Voldemort looked away. The youngster blinked in surprise. It wasn't customary to see the Dark Lord lose a staring contest.

"**_I hate you, Potter_**," Riddle hissed venomously all of a sudden, glaring at the cracks in the bricked wall, his spidery fingers curling and uncurling in nervous jerks around the smooth surface of his yew wand.

"I know that," Harry said carefully, watching how the other wizard fight down a fit of anger or whatever it was. He didn't understand what infuriated him so much.

"What I don't know is why you sent me my glasses back … repaired and improved," he whispered.

The pale hand squeezed the wand forcefully and in that moment Harry was absolutely sure that whatever Voldemort was going to say, it was going to be a lie. But the question was why?

"You sometimes confuse me, Potter. I was certain that you would be disgusted by that _gift_, because you could easily deduce who sent it to you. I merely wanted to spoil your Christmas. That was the only purpose. I would never expect you to be grateful, or to actually wear them."

It was a perfect lie, Harry couldn't expect anything less. But it was a lie anyway and it extremely stirred Harry's curiosity.

Voldemort meanwhile seemed to overcome the emotional flurry that seized him a moment ago. He once again regained perfect control of himself.

"And now stop asking me stupid questions and check whether she's still breathing."

"Oh, right," Harry muttered. He had almost forgotten the reason why he came here in the first place. He quickly found a little hollow at Sheena's side and felt it moving beneath his fingers. It was weak, but steady. He stroke her body gently and as he removed his hand he said.

"She'll be all right."

It was still a wishful thinking, but Harry refused to acknowledge any other possibility.

Maybe the idea to send Voldemort a letter and ask him for help wasn't completely idiotic. Incidentally, the letter reminded him that Sheena wasn't the only animal he should be worried about.

"By the way, you didn't kill Pig, did you?" he asked suddenly, glaring daggers at the Dark Lord.

Voldemort raised his hairless eyebrow, curious and irritated.

"A pig? What pig? What are you talking about, you dolt?"

"I mean the owl!" Harry moaned. "The owl which brought you my letter. Pig is just his name."

"Pig?"

Harry glared.

"It doesn't matter. Your owl was … very lucky," Voldemort hissed, rubbing his wrist distractedly.

"However, if you can give a bird such a ridiculous name, I don't even wish to know what you decided to call her," the crimson eyes flashed towards the snake on the rug.

"Pig isn't my owl," Harry corrected. "His true name is Pigwidgeon, but Ron thought it was stupid so he shortened it to Pig."

"Which says a lot about intelligence of that blood traitor," Voldemort said matter-of-factly.

"Excuse me!" Harry howled, but the Dark Lord just sneered.

Harry seethed in fury. How dared that bastard to insult his best friend! If it wasn't so risky to start an argument, Harry wouldn't hesitate and tell him exactly what he thought about his racist views and opinions.

It took him good two minutes to calm down enough to speak again.

"Her name is Sheena," he forced through his still clenched teeth.

Voldemort bristled.

"What was that?"

"Sheena," Harry said again, wondering whether he pronounced it wrongly or something.

"_A filthy muggle name_…," the Dark Lord hissed, disgusted. "Why was I expecting something else..."

Harry instantly had a juicy reply on his tongue concerning Voldemort's muggle name, but forcefully gulped it down.

"Why should I care that you don't like it? It's not my problem," he retorted coldly instead.

"I'll give her a new name, Potter."

"Whatever. She won't listen to you."

"Of course she will! I'll make sure you'll see that!"

"Will you? Oh, perfect! I guess it means that you don't plan on killing me now. So, can I leave?"

The furious scream, the wand between Harry's eyes and the pulsing vein on Riddle's forehead indicated that Harry was very close to stepping over the limit of Voldemort's patience.

He shut his mouth, but deep inside he was satisfied that they could still argue without tearing each other apart. It was healthy. Maybe that cave incident was somehow beneficial after all.

"You _insolent_ … brat." Riddle's voice shook with suppressed emotions. "I could easily crush your weak body with a mere thought. I could cause you suffering worse than you can imagine … I could … make you beg and cry like the child you still are..."

His other hand reached to Harry's face, digging his claws into his scar, his eyebrows and cheek. Harry didn't jerk away. Instead he held his gaze calmly.

"Are you aware of this, Potter?"

"Yes," the youngster replied dryly.

"And you're not afraid?"

"No." Harry shook his head almost imperceptibly, still Riddle's fingers slid down to the frames of Harry's spectacles.

"Then you're a fool. And the fact that you saved me only proves it," Voldemort hissed quietly, maliciously, closing the distance, his lips inches from Harry's ear.

"Maybe I am," Harry admitted grudgingly. "But that's not the reason why I saved you. I did it because unlike you..." he paused dramatically "...I have a heart."

Voldemort's eyes narrowed a bit.

"And what exactly does it mean?" he whispered suspiciously. "Are you talking about _love_ again? That love which is supposed to destroy me? Well Potter, if you haven't noticed, it didn't work!"

Harry shook his head in refusal.

_Love was not supposed to destroy him, it was supposed to defeat him, _Harry thought, but before he could voice it a painful hissing cry cut through the air, making him forget all his thoughts.

"Sheena!" he gasped breathlessly and turned to his snake who had suddenly awakened and began to wince and writhe in pain.

"**_Sheena!_**" he cried again, cradling her head in his lap, gazing into her widely opened, unseeing eye.

"What's wrong with her?-!" he turned to the dark wizard, failing to suppress his panic.

"It's a mere reaction to the treatment. I was expecting it," Riddle said unfazed.

"YOU WERE EXPECTING _THIS_?-!"

"Your voice is annoying, brat," Voldemort hissed and rubbed his chin distractedly and stepped aside to take a better look at the snake.

"This shouldn't be anything abnormal, though I must admit that it's a bit preliminary and rather strong response..."

Harry's hand unconsciously curled into a fist.

"So you intend to leave her in pain, because it's _normal_?"

"My intentions are none of your business, Potter," Riddle retorted acidly and righted himself, glaring down at Harry from his full height.

"Make sure that she's still breathing when I return," he said then. "Ah, and a little warning for you, brat. Touch anything what doesn't belong to you and you'll die the most painful death possible."

Then his dark robes swirled and he was gone. Suddenly. Unexpectedly.

"This is simply perfect," Harry uttered sarcastically to the silent room. "And how exactly am I supposed to keep her alive?"

He sighed and once again caressed the head of his snake.

Sheena fortunately soon enough stopped writhing and her long body gradually relaxed. Her breath was quick, but steady and Harry's tension slowly disappeared, being replaced by curiosity. He placed her head carefully back on the rug and slowly stood up. The member of the Order who he restrained inside himself fully awakened. He didn't know when Voldemort would return; it could be just a couple of minutes, which left him only very little time for inspection of his workroom.

"He said that I shouldn't touch anything," Harry muttered for himself. "Which means that I can look around briefly."

Harry quickly strolled towards the massive mahogany table. He noticed that on the top of the desk was only the empty brazen goblet, a little piece of crumpled parchment which Harry instantly identified as his letter and also some other unimportant things such as a quill and an ink-pot, a candlestick, an old-looking book in a leather folder and a hourglass. It was quite a disappointment.

Harry knelt down and soon enough found something much more interesting. The worktable had three drawers. He was certain that their content must be substantially more informative. The Order knew practically nothing about what Voldemort had been doing past three years and Harry couldn't supply them with any new information, as he was no longer the Dark Lord's Horcrux. Their link was broken. He had to find another way to learn something about him and this was a great opportunity. He just had to find a way to get inside it. But how could he open it without touching the handles? He decided for the easiest way at first and pulled out the wand and whispered:

"_Alohomora!_"

It was probably too primitive a curse to actually work, Harry thought bitterly and tried another one.

"_Relashio!_"

Again, the drawers remained firmly locked.

"Damn!" Harry cursed, glaring at the silver handles reminding him snakes. Then a sudden idea struck him. Could it be...?

"**_Open,_**" he hissed quickly.

Something snapped and a sound of something heavy rolling over the tiled floor could be heard. But it wasn't the drawers. Harry jumped on his feet, looking around wildly.

It was the black cabinet right beside the table. Harry noticed that its door opened and he approached it carefully.

A patch of silvery light illuminated the cabinet's edges, dancing and shimmering on its rough surface.

Harry's breath froze in his throat as he came nearer and nearer. He, of course, instantly recognized the bright, shining substance which swirled wildly in a shallow, stone basin before him. His heart hammered in his chest as if trying to escape it's constriction.

He was standing in front of _Voldemort's Pensieve_.

**_R&R_**


	32. Revelations

**Author's note:** Thank you all very, very much for your support. I consider this chapter as one of the most important in the whole story (the title says it all). I really hope you'll enjoy it.

Many special thanks to my dear Beta **TheSecretUchiha**, who did the necessary revision of this super-long chapter!

Special note for **yellow 14**: Thank you very much for all your very special, amazing reviews. If you'll be reviewing this chapter as well hopefully you won't ask Ginny for participation, otherwise she'll Bat-Bogey Hex me till the next Christmas! :D

**Warning!** manxman sexual relationship, violence, language. No explicit scenes.

(_**Parseltongue**_)

**xxxxx**

**Revelations**

**xxxxx**

_London, __the Dark Lord's hideout_

_26__th_ _December 2000, __00__:__19_

The silvery substance shone in the most enchanting light Harry had ever seen. He stood there, petrified, within reach of probably most sacred object in the entire Dark Lord's hideout. His eyes tingled as he didn't even dare to blink, his head reeled as he forgot how to breathe and his arms and legs felt stiff like they weren't his own. Ultimately, his lungs gave in to the desire to take in some fresh air. As a result his throat produced a raspy wheeze and shortly afterward a new dose of oxygen refreshed his blood and unlocked his muscles. He could once again move, think and make a decision. His sweaty palm squeezed the wand and he took a first hesitant step forward.

And he halted again as a cold blade of fear cut through him. It dawned on him that if Voldemort came back right now, he would most likely show him what exactly he meant when he told him about the most painful death possible.

It was definitely in Harry's best interest to avoid that experience.

He jerked his wandless hand upwards and wiped away the moisture from his upper lip. His trembling fingers felt surprisingly cold against his own skin.

"This is … insane," he breathed out and licked his chapped lips. "Surely, just by staring at it I'm asking for terrible trouble."

He took another deep breath.

"I'm going to close it and I'll do it right now, before he returns..."

The silvery substance swirling inside the bowl in slow circular motions was hypnotizing him, inviting him to look inside.

"I can't…," he whispered throatily. "If he … if he caught me..."

Yet his legs unconsciously took another step forward.

What secrets could possibly reside in that Pensieve? Was it something the Dark Lord never wanted anyone to know? What kind of memories was he hiding? Harry knew that Voldemort was an expert in Legilimency and yet he wanted to be absolutely sure that no one would ever see this, he wanted to prevent another person from catching a glimpse of this in his head by some incredible accident...

What could it be? Harry instantly doubted that it was something concerning the Horcruxes. No, why would he hide those memories when his Horcruxes were long since discovered and destroyed? His curiosity was literally eating him alive. He needed to know the answer. If he just took the briefest glance and closed the cabinet right after that, no one would ever find out. It wouldn't last longer than few seconds. Just one glimpse, that's all...

He took another step closer, checking his surroundings again before turning back and quickly prodding the floating, shiny content with the tip of his wand.

The silvery substance began to swirl madly and Harry leaned forward, careful not to accidentally touch it with his nose. Soon enough the liquid gradually became transparent and Harry's breathing halted again as familiar features began to outline before him. He recognized that handsome face, those evil navy-blue eyes, which were cutting through him just like Voldemort's murderous stare...

"The vampire?" he muttered as the picture in the Pensieve cleared and he recognized the creature which attacked him and Voldemort during their stay in Crowborough.

Harry leaned closer, trying to figure out what he was saying. The sense of danger began to diminish as he fully focused on the man's pleasant smile and his subservient behavior. He looked different, Harry realized. He looked _alive._

But Harry needed to know what he was talking about...

He was dangerously close now, lip-reading the other man. He could swear he almost heard him … if he leaned just a little closer he would certainly...

His nose inadvertently touched the floating liquid and in that instant he toppled over the brim and he was falling and falling, spinning furiously...

And then he opened his eyes and yelped in surprise.

"Damn!" he cursed aloud, stomping his foot in frustration while his eyes quickly scanned the small, unfamiliar room where he had fallen.

This was really bad, he really didn't know how to avoid serious trouble. How could he let this happen?-!

Harry pulled out his wand, contemplating how he was supposed to get out now. He was aware that he should have known the answer to this question before sticking his curious nose inside. Now it was a little too late to regret it. He'd better find a way out of this mess. _Quickly._

However, before he could do anything at all, his eyes caught a glimpse of something that perfectly cleared his head.

It was Voldemort; which shouldn't be too surprising as it was after all _his_ memory.

Yet it was a substantially younger version of Voldemort than Harry was accustomed to see. His pretty face was still almost a perfect copy of his aristocratic father, although Harry noticed some minute signs of the future transformation. Riddle's short black hair was wet and disheveled – he just had to come out of a bathroom. And he was almost naked, only a short towel was wrapped around his pale, thin waist as he was sitting at the edge of a table, scribbling something into a familiar looking diary.

The sight of him represented so much of a distraction that Harry no longer remembered what he wanted to do a moment ago.

"Do you agree, My Lord?"

Naturally, Harry jumped a feet high in surprise.

He should have realized that Voldemort wasn't alone. The other man – that vampire (if he was already a vampire, which was a question, but Harry somehow doubted it as the person didn't shown any vampiric signs) – was also present and approached the Dark Lord leisurely.

Voldemort saw this and closed his diary. He lay it beside him on the desk, looked up and _smiled_.

_He smiled. _

Harry's knees buckled in shock. He had never seen Voldemort smile. Ever.

Voldemort only cackled evilly or screamed in a wild joy.

He never smiled like this. It was so … _unlike_ him.

"It's a tempting offer, Dragomir. Come here," he said quietly, melodically.

_Dragomir. Yes, Dragomir Negura_. Harry immediately recalled the name and he watched the other man follow the Dark Lord's order without the slightest hesitation. He saw him coming closer and closer, leaning in and...

Harry's whole face turned purple when Negura's lips touched the Dark Lord's naked shoulder, sliding over his skin towards his neck.

He looked away, thoroughly embarrassed. Well, now he perfectly understood why Riddle didn't want anyone to see this.

He was _so_ dead for watching him make out with _another man_.

Harry gritted his teeth. He had to get out of this memory while he still had some time to Obliviate himself. Totally, if possible. Some secrets should remain unveiled.

Honestly, what did it matter to him whether Voldemort was or wasn't gay? That hardly was a secret weapon helping him to defeat the Dark Lord. It only surprised him that he had never considered this before. Maybe because he didn't really care about Voldemort's sexual preferences. But it was so obvious now. Harry recalled how Bellatrix, a quite pretty, (bah – not that he ever personally considered that insane bitch attractive) powerful, pureblooded witch was practically drooling at the sight of him and yet Riddle never showed even the slightest interest.

"Enough Dragomir! What have I told you about kissing me!" Voldemort hissed virulently, breaking through Harry's thoughts. He instinctively looked up at the couple and noticed that Voldemort moved his head aside before Negura's lips could touch his.

"Apologies, My Lord...," Dragomir smirked slyly, took a step backward and bowed deeply.

Voldemort's eyes narrowed, but he copied Negura's smirk and whispered.

"Undress."

_No, no, no, no, no_, Harry repeated over and over in his head. For Merlin's sake he _had to_ get out of here! Before he'll see things which could make even the toughest guy cringe.

The red splotches on Harry's cheeks lost its color and his whole face turned pale when Negura shed his vest and shirt.

Could he use Relashio curse again? It should work … yes, it definitely has to work.

"My Lord," Negura spoke again as Voldemort drew him closer, biting and licking his skin enthusiastically.

"Master … I was wondering … whether you would let me..."

"Let you what?" Voldemort raised his head, displeased.

"I live to serve you, My Lord. I'm here to help you reach your goals. I'm willing to offer everything I have. My skills, my knowledge, my whole existence..."

The Dark Lord's stony expression melted for an instant.

"I'm aware of that. You're my best Death Eater, Dragomir. Your missions were always successful. You've never disappointed me..."

"Let me serve you again, Master..."

Voldemort looked wary for a moment but he quickly hid it behind the mask of precise self-control.

"And what exactly are you suggesting?" he asked quietly.

"I ...," Dragomir breathed out and Harry noticed how his jaw tightened. He leaned closer to Voldemort's ear. "I want you. I want you so much, My Lord..."

Harry, who was until that moment quite fascinated by their dialogue, turned red again as Voldemort practically disappeared beneath the much more muscular body, which pressed him down to the desk. He only heard the sound of the Riddle's back colliding with the table.

Harry's thoughts turned feverish_. _He had to come up with something. Anything sounded good right now. Or he'll be dead. Very soon.

"GET OFF ME!"

The roar he heard made him look back.

Negura was thrown over a half of the room and before his body even touched the ground he was under Cruciatus curse and Voldemort was above him, seething, furious.

Finally the painful screams ceased and the Dark Lord took three steps backwards.

"Get out of here!" he spat.

"My Lord...," Negura whispered, looking up from the ground. "I can explain..."

"Learn your place, **servant**!"

"Master?" the other man gasped, disbelievingly.

"What is it that you don't understand? Maybe you need another portion of pain to brighten up your thinking!"

"My L..."

"GET OUT! And don't you dare to come back anytime soon!"

Even though Voldemort's eyes weren't the pools of blood with slits instead of pupils yet, his glare still had an enormous, frightening power.

Harry felt himself shrink slightly even though it wasn't directed at him. Then Riddle turned towards the table again approached it and grasped his diary. His hands still trembled with hardly suppressed fury.

"After all the things I've done for you...," Dragomir whispered, his voice growing cold and emotionless.

"Negura!" Voldemort barked threateningly. "You're still here?-!"

"As you wish, _Master_, maybe you're right. It's time to end this," the other man said quietly and slowly raised himself from the ground.

Voldemort was still turned away from him, clearly waiting for him to leave.

Harry didn't know why, but suddenly he felt a strong foreboding that something terrible was going to happen. It ran along his spine like a nervous tingling.

He looked away from Voldemort to Negura and gasped.

The man was nothing like before. Gone was the healthy tint of his skin, gone was his pleasant smile and playful glint in his eyes. His body had a sickly white-blue colour now, a shade so very typical for vampires. He stared at the Dark Lord's nape like a ravenous beast. The protruding canines bit into his lower lip, eager to taste flesh.

Harry was absolutely stunned. He completely failed to understand it. A moment ago Negura was a living, breathing man and within several seconds he turned into a blood lusting freak.

This wasn't normal.

Vampires couldn't change like that!

And Voldemort … dammit, Voldemort had to turn around now. He had to feel he was in danger, hadn't he?

Why wasn't he turning around...?

Negura was preparing for an attack, regarding the unsuspecting wizard like a hungry wolf, itching for a lost lamb. Harry could see him crouching, his muscles tightening – he quickly glanced back at the Dark Lord, who was furiously scratching off some note in his diary...

"Look out! Behind you!" Harry screamed, momentarily forgetting that this was only a memory, that he could not prevent what was going to happen...

Strange, it seemed that Voldemort heard him. He stiffened all of a sudden and turned around in a blur.

But it was too late.

Negura had already leaped.

"No!" Harry shouted as their bodies clashed together but his voice was drowned out by one of the most painful shrieks he had ever heard in his life. They toppled over the table and landed on the floor behind it with a loud thud.

Instinctively, Harry wanted to help. He ran towards them and reached out, trying to pull the vampire away, only his hands went through him like he was made of smoke. Slowly, very slowly, Harry remembered that this wasn't real. This wasn't happening right now. He couldn't do anything to stop it.

His surrounding began to dissolve in a mist. Voldemort was still writhing madly, trying to escape his attacker, but to no avail. He already began to lose consciousness. As the resistance grew more and more feeble, the mist thickened.

Harry's whole body shook.

_Voldemort was going to die … but wasn't this just a memory? How could he possibly survive it?_

Suddenly, Negura raised his head, regarding his half-conscious victim with a satisfied smirk.

"Well, before I put an end to your suffering, My Lord, I guess I should introduce myself again. I would prefer to clear things up a little so there won't be any misunderstanding."

He stood up and Harry watched, horrified, how the vampire dragged Lord Voldemort's bloodied, inert body into the middle of the room. There wasn't the slightest hint of concern written in his face.

_Vampires. Soulless monsters, _Harry instantly thought with revulsion. Voldemort could also murder and remain emotionless, he remembered right away.

"I'm indeed Dragomir Lucian Negura, but I'm three hundred and thirty seven years old, not twenty seven as I told you. I hope you don't find it too … upsetting."

He chuckled and straddled Riddle's lax body, forcing him to look up.

The wizard beneath him coughed – coughed up blood and the vampire leaned down and licked it away.

"I served you over the six months for the only purpose. To gain your trust. With your trust came proximity and with your proximity came a chance for a perfect attack. The strange thing is … that quite unexpectedly ... during the time we spent together I grew somehow fond of you... That has never happened to me before. Not for any dark lord before you at least..."

A caress, a mocking touch of affection. Harry looked away, disgusted.

"You may be wondering about the reason why I did this to you. You don't have to – there is none. I only exist to hunt wizards like you. Those who spread terror and fear. Those who are powerful enough to be worth my effort to kill them. Soon, very soon you'll join me - my little Lordling - and help me with this noble task. Just like the others."

Voldemort coughed again, his face contorted in pain. Negura paid it no attention. He only grasped his chin, forcing him to look into his eyes.

"But first, we must make clear who's the Master here, so there won't be any doubt in the future, right?"

He quickly rolled up his left sleeve, revealing the Dark Mark embedded in his skin. Then he pulled out his wand – which made Harry gasp in surprise, because he had never heard about a vampire using a wand - and pressed it against that darkened patch of skin while holding the Dark Lord's blank stare. The skin under the wand instantly burst into flames, making Voldemort howl in pain again.

Harry noticed in shock and disgust, that Voldemort's own Dark Mark began to bleed profusely. He didn't understand how it was possible with the lack of blood in Riddle's veins.

Negura, however, didn't even wince as he watched and listened to the dark wizard's hisses and cries.

"Well, I guess that the destruction of the Dark Mark was supposed to kill me. What a pity, I'm already dead … in a way. But I have to admit that it hurt a little...," he smirked cruelly and leaned to lick Voldemort's bleeding Mark carefully, a savage smirk never leaving his face.

"And now the last thing," he whispered and leisurely stood up.

"It's a sort of tradition that I punish every dark lord before killing him. You don't need to worry too much though. I really like you - I certainly won't be too cruel."

Voldemort didn't react. His body lay twisted and unmoving and Harry saw how the mist surrounding him was growing darker and denser every moment.

The vampire meanwhile strolled leisurely towards the table and Harry couldn't see what he took until he returned and showed it to the half-dead wizard.

"This is your Horcrux, right?"

The reaction coming from Voldemort was incredible. He screamed in rage and pain and reached out to take his precious diary, attempting to free it from the monster's grasp.

"Just as I thought," Negura smirked. "Vampires have very sensitive senses, Voldemort. We can detect human souls even when hidden inside some objects... You didn't know this, right? Vampires have many secrets mortals do not know..."

He opened it, browsing its pages, ignoring Voldemort's desperate screams.

"Don't worry, I won't be destroying it," he spoke soothingly. "I'll just take a … little souvenir. Hmm … I like the last page with your notes. Shall I read some of them?"

Another pained howl escaped Riddle's damaged throat.

Harry at the moment thought that the horror would possibly never end. And the worst part was that he couldn't stop it, he couldn't hide from it, he had to stand there and watch that hideous scene.

"This is really nice … listen... 'Why should I resist the temptation?'" Negura imitated Riddle's voice. "'If it is only for once in my life it cannot cause me any harm.'"

"This is about me, right?" he looked down at the suffering man. "Lovely. I'll keep it."

And then, right before Voldemort's eyes his inhumanly sharp claws perforated the thin paper, tearing it along the binding.

The book moved beneath his hands as if the object felt physical pain. The ink gushed out like the blood from the wound on Voldemort's neck.

But Voldemort's reaction was far more intense. He shrieked, he begged, he cried...

It made Harry feel like a filth.

Like dishonourable filth for watching this without Voldemort's permission.

How could he violate his privacy to this extent? It was so sickening...

And he wanted to get out, he prayed to get out.

He would never ever violate anyone's Pensieve again!

It was too much. He couldn't stomach it. But no one helped him, just like no one helped Tom Marvolo Riddle who was being tortured before his eyes.

Negura stood up, once again dressed up in his dark shirt. He folded the torn off paper and tucked it into his pocket. Then he closed the 'bleeding' diary and threw it back on the table.

"Don't worry, your Horcrux can survive such damage," he said coldly and turned back to the heavily breathing man. "By keeping it alive I'm giving you a terrific gift which you'll be able to appreciate in a few moments."

Suddenly, Harry noticed that his surroundings were much sharper and clearer than a minute ago. Something was going to happen, he could feel the change in the vibes.

"Let's finish it," Negura continued, approaching the Dark Lord, arrogant and confident.

"I'm a bit disappointed though. I hoped you would fight a bit more. Maybe you weren't as dangerous as the other magicians thought. But I assure you that together with me you'll reach far greater power and glory than you've ever dreamed about. If that's what you want, of course."

"You...," Voldemort ground out a word which was barely recognizable.

"You!" He repeated, his nails scratching the cold floor beneath him.

Harry looked at him and noticed pure madness in his eyes. The man looked a lot more like the Voldemort Harry knew than the Tom Riddle he used to be.

"Great! Rave, snarl, give in to your rage! Just for this moment I don't mind. It'll make that great taste of your blood even better."

The Dark Lord closed his eyes tightly.

"I almost regret that it's over," Negura went on. "Unfortunately, I must hurry up - the rest of your followers are coming," he said quietly and leaned down to the wizard again, stroking his cheek slowly. Another absolutely awful mock of fondness, Harry noticed with abhorrence.

"You don't need to be afraid...," he whispered softly.

Harry's hands curled in fists. He was certain that if he heard that freak say another word he would have to throw up right into Voldemort's Pensive.

Just before the monster's lips touched the wound on his neck, Voldemort's eyes flew open and he screamed.

"_Accio!_"

The yew wand, which lay somewhere beneath the table, jumped from the floor right into Voldemort's waiting palm.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

Negura didn't even have a time to look surprised as the curse blasted him against the opposite wall.

Voldemort rolled onto his stomach, closed the wound on his neck instantly and crawled towards the table, naked, bloodied, hyperventilating...

He reached it just as Negura's tall body moved again, twitching and jerking. The Dark Lord yanked out all the drawers, emptying them, searching for something, frantically, desperately, his breath hitching in his throat...

And then Negura was on his feet again, whisking dust from his black shirt.

"That was very impolite of you, Voldemort," he whispered venomously. "It really stings when you cast a Killing Curse on me. Don't do this again. I don't like it."

Tom Riddle didn't respond. His trembling fingers were trying to uncork one small vial.

"Please...," he muttered almost inaudibly and tried it again and again. Finally it came off and he drank the liquid greedily.

"Give it up, Voldemort. It's over. There's no reason to fight me now."

Negura was nearly by the table, pulling out his wand but the Dark Lord was faster.

The yew wand flashed through the air, Harry couldn't even see it properly.

He only heard something fall on the floor.

Harry's stomach made several violent flips when he realized what it was. There, on the green carpet before him, lay the vampire's arm. The long pale fingers - so alike Voldemort's - still clutched at the wand firmly.

Negura didn't scream in pain, the terrible wound didn't bleed. He just stared at Voldemort, utterly astounded.

"And now _Dragomir_," Voldemort whispered gravely as he slowly stood up, his eyes gleaming with mad rage.

"Tell me _my dear friend, _how exactly do you want to die? I would personally prefer to cut out your heart and make you eat it but I'm open to your suggestions. We will see how far I'm able to control you with the Imperius Curse..."

His voice slowly faded away as the mist clouded Harry's vision and he realized that the floor no longer supported him.

He was floating and spinning and trying to catch his balance, but he failed and stumbled backwards, the silver content of the Pensieve spinning before him. And then he was on his knees and he couldn't catch his breath, he was choking...

It took him several long seconds to realize that he was back in Voldemort's chambers.

He remained on his knees, combing his sweaty hair, wishing to push the horrendous images out of his head.

It didn't work though, they were still there.

He breathed forcefully, blinking, looking around quickly, nervously. He couldn't see anyone. He knew had to close that cabinet with the Pensieve right now...

But something was different … the room was very dark … it wasn't so dark before, he was certain of it.

And …damn! Where was Sheena?-!

Harry's heart hammered in his chest as he glanced at the empty rug in front of the fireplace.

"_**Sheena!**_" he hissed, checking his surroundings. His eyes slowly adapted to the darkness as he was scanning the floor, the furniture … dark corners...

And then he saw her.

The greater part of her body rested on the black carpet in a shadow of a big, old armchair. And her head was … her head was in _Voldemort's_ lap, who was comfortably seated in the dark green upholstery, stroking her slowly with his long, pale forefinger.

Harry's stomach made several flips again as the freaky eyes met his own.

"She will be all right, Potter," he whispered softly. How that barely perceptible, silky voice could hold so much of a threat, Harry didn't know. "However, I doubt that is what you really care about, you little scurvy snooper... Always serving the Order, correct?"

It was terrifying how incredibly calm Voldemort seemed to be.

"No...," Harry breathed out as his stomach somehow settled beside his madly beating heart in his throat. He took a step backwards as Voldemort slowly rose from the armchair, pulling out his wand.

"I used to have a lot of fun with Dragomir, don't you agree … _Harry_?"

Voldemort's voice was alarmingly cold. It felt like a touch of Death.

In a sudden rush of emotions Harry felt how his heart tried to squeeze through his throat into his mouth. He gulped it back, yet it still blocked his airways.

"Look, I just...," he tried to say.

Voldemort's wide red eyes flashed in the darkness.

"Don't. Say. A word. Potter! We're done talking."

At that moment Harry knew that he had to be prepared for the worst. Voldemort didn't attack him yet, but it was only a question of seconds.

The door leading out of Voldemort's chambers suddenly clicked and opened, revealing the dark corridor behind. Harry involuntarily glanced in that direction and then back at the Dark Lord.

"Run," Voldemort hissed coldly, raising his wand.

"What?" Harry gulped.

"I said run, Potter."

"Wh... why?" he stuttered, nervously clutching his wand behind his back.

The dark wizard smirked cruelly.

"You've asked for the most painful death possible, brat. I could torture you to madness and then kill you, but why when it's humiliation that you find insufferable? So, I've decided to kill you when you'll be running for your life. And now … run."

So this is it. Harry should have expected this. Fear slowly began to diminish now that he knew what he was facing … again.

"No," he said firmly, pressing his lips tightly together.

Anger flashed in Voldemort's eyes as he pointed his wand on him and whispered.

"Then as you wish, Potter! … AVADA KEDAVRA!"

**xxxxx**

_London, the Ministry of Magic_

_25__th_ _December 2000, 23:45 _

"Wait … I have a feeling that someone's watching us," Ron muttered nervously, and reached out to grasp his older brother's shoulder who was leading him and Hermione across the Atrium towards the entrance of the Ministry. Percy halted next to the golden fountain and Ron together with Hermione looked around the dark, empty hall, listening carefully to every noise. Hermione, who stood very close beside him, slowly pulled out her wand, rubbing its handle in her palm nervously.

"I also think I hear something," she said uncertainly, "maybe we should..."

"We are not in a danger," Percy interrupted her calmly. "The Leader told me that he's got the situation in the Ministry under control."

"Hey, I thought you don't like the guy!" Ron protested. "So why are you counting on his word so much?"

Percy didn't look at him as he replied. His eyes remained fixed to the golden gate at the end of the hall.

"I don't like him," he admitted. "Nevertheless it doesn't mean that I don't consider him as a capable wizard."

"Percy," Hermione whispered, "are you absolutely sure that the Leader knows where Harry is? Are you sure that he's even here? Because I don't think that he's got the situation in hand – just look at the statues of the wizard and the witch."

All of them looked upwards at the fountain. The golden sculpture looked the same as ever – with one exception. Someone took the trouble to conjure up golden canine teeth to add to the statues of the humans. There were also several little drops of blood adorning their metal lips.

Ron gulped idly at the sight.

"I really think we should go home," he muttered quietly. "What would Harry be doing here anyway? Next time I see him I swear he'll have to give us a much better explanation than the last time. Aren't we his best friends? Why couldn't he tell us where he was going?-!"

"Percy," Hermione hissed quietly again, ignoring Ron's rant. "What exactly has the Leader told you? Can you repeat it?"

Percy finally turned his head towards them, still calm and composed.

"He said that if Harry Potter disappears again, we can always come to ask him where to find him."

"And that's all? That sounds very suspicious...," she said, but Percy just shrugged his shoulders and set out towards the gate again. Ron and Hermione looked at each other in confusion, yet they followed him after a short hesitation.

"Don't you think your brother's acting a little … weird?" Hermione whispered quietly into Ron's ear as they were getting closer and closer to the Front Gate.

"Yeah," Ron breathed out. "He told me that his new job is very stressful. Maybe he doesn't see the danger because of it."

"I don't know," Hermione muttered. "Ron, I don't like it here. Maybe we should have told to the rest of the Order where exactly we're going..."

"Look, if anything happens, we'll just grasp Percy and Apparate from here, okay?" Ron whispered back, looking around surreptitiously. "Just keep your eyes open."

They quickly passed through the opened, unguarded golden gate and though they were very careful and attentive none of them noticed a tall dark shadow which slowly moved behind one of the columns. Someone was indeed watching them.

**xxxxx**

_London, the Ministry of Magic_

_25__th_ _December 2000, 23:__52_

Lucius naturally spotted the person hiding among the wide pillars. It was a mortal: he could perfectly hear the hot blood rushing in his veins. Growing thirsty again, he glanced away from the pursued trio towards the man in the shadow. Nestor's firm hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"One of Voldemort's followers," he whispered. "Leave him alone. Dragomir is informed about their presence and he ordered us not to attack them without his permission."

"What if he attacks us?" Lucius asked with open displeasure.

"Very unlikely," Nestor smirked, and strolled confidently over the dark hall.

Lucius hissed, irritated, but followed the older vampire.

"You must learn to control your thirst, little suckling, or you'll get into serious troubles. I bet Dragomir warned you."

Malfoy only snorted.

"Stop mocking me, Desalmado. I can take perfect care of myself even without your _good advice_."

Nestor's smirk grew wider.

"As you wish, _Lucius_. Follow those three. You'd better not be seen. I'll go ahead and inform out Leader about the visitors."

"What if they don't go to see him?" Malfoy bristled. "Shall I force them?"

The other vampire only smiled slyly.

"They are without a doubt coming to him. If you haven't noticed, it's Percy Weasley who's leading the other two."

"I have noticed it," Lucius retorted acidly. "So what?"

"Percy Weasley works for Dragomir," Nestor replied calmly.

Lucius fully turned to look at his companion, openly surprised.

"He's not a vampire," he whispered, which made Nestor chuckle.

"No, certainly not … but Dragomir has other ways to make the mortals follow his wishes. For example, have you ever heard of the Imperius Curse?"

For a moment, Lucius had nothing to say about that.

"I must be going," Nestor whispered. "Stay aside." And then his body shrank in its proportions, turning and changing until only a small bat remained on the floor. It flew towards the ceiling with an incredible speed, and then disappeared through one of the many windows, possibly leading into the office of the Minister's Highest Advisor.

**xxxxx**

_London, __the Dark Lord's hideout_

_26__th_ _December 2000, __00__:__46_

Harry saw it coming, he knew which curse he'll be facing again and he wasn't willing to take it without a fight. If only he didn't feel so guilty for the current development. But, honestly, what had he expect after being caught snooping in Lord Voldemort's Pensieve?

So when the dark wizard sent the curse at him he flung himself sideways, falling behind the worktable. The piercing green light missed him by mere inches.

"Hiding from your fate now, Potter?" Voldemort's cold, high voice reached his ears. "Not very courageous of you..."

"_Expelliarmus!_" Harry screamed from bellow the table, but Riddle blocked it easily. He threw the table against the young man hiding behind it, and Harry instinctively rolled away, fractions of a second separating him from being crushed by the massive object.

"You're so pitifully predictable … _Crucio!_"

Harry tried to avoid it, yet soon enough he realized it was too late. He was pinned to the floor, howling in pain he wished never to experience again. The hot spikes and knives were cutting his entrails, his bones shattered and grew together in the same moment, his spine bent so much it threatened to split in half.

Then he finally felt a brief relief and he heard himself gasp and sob.

"Stop it … stop it!"

"Begging already, Potter?"

Harry groaned, biting his lip hard enough to taste blood.

"Tell me, brat," Voldemort seethed. "Did you enjoy hearing me cry like a baby? So, did you?"

Harry cast a hateful glare at him, raising the wand he still miraculously clutched in his palm.

"_Stupef..._!"

The wand flung out of his hand as Voldemort wordlessly disarmed him.

"And now Potter, let's see how much _you_ will endure!"

"_Cruc..._"

Harry closed his eyes tightly, expecting a new portion of pain. He decided he wouldn't scream no matter what. Even if he should bite off his tongue.

The pain, however, didn't come. For a while he heard only Voldemort's ragged breath, he could feel his mad wrath poisoning the air. It was a completely righteous feeling, he knew that much. But why didn't Riddle curse him yet?

And then he heard it too.

It was a soft, confused whisper, so feeble that he barely noticed it.

"_**Harry..."**_

The voice quickly grew in strength.

"_**Harry?"**_

_**.**_

_**.**_

_**.**_

"_**Harry Potter!"**_

Now the confusion was nearly gone, replaced with a slight irritation. Harry recognized it right away and opened his eyes instantly. Voldemort still stood few feet away from him, but his stare no longer burned holes through him. No, he was gazing in the direction of...

"_**Sheena!" **_Harry yelped, a sudden joyous feeling rushing through him.

He propped himself on his arms and decided to test the tenacity of his aching muscles as he slowly stood up. It was painful, nevertheless he managed. Voldemort looked back at him, his eyes still gleaming in rage, but he was quiet. Then slowly, very slowly he lowered his wand. Harry watched him, silent as well, wondering what to do.

"Can … I?" he eventually asked. He would prefer not to be cursed into his back as he went to see his dear snake.

"Say one wrong word, Potter, and you're dead!" the Dark Lord's reply was cutting and ice cold.

Harry gulped and looked back at the armchair. His legs refused to move at first but he coerced them. His steps were heavy and uneven, yet he was slowly approaching Sheena, that was the most important thing.

"_**I'm here,"**_ he whispered when he reached her and knelt beside her, taking her head in his palms.

Her long forked tongue touched his skin before disappearing back in her chops.

"_**Why did you leave me alone?"**_ she asked immediately.

Harry first didn't know what she was referring to, but then he remembered how he left Grimmauld Place without telling anyone where he was going. Well, he wrote them a letter, but Sheena could hardly read it.

It seemed so long ago now. It was before the dreadful cave incident and everything what followed thereafter.

"_**I'm sorry, Sheena,"**_ he whispered.

"_**Are you?"**_ she hissed, heatedly._**"Do you know how many times your human friends tried to kill me?-!"**_

"Ouch!" Harry cried. _**"You bit me!"**_

It didn't cause him any real harm, so Harry guessed that it wasn't her true intention. What ruffled him up was Voldemort, who cackled quietly. That bastard. He was certainly having great fun right now.

Harry turned to glare at him, but Sheena made him look back.

"_**Where are we?" **_she asked suspiciously, her narrow pupils forming tiny slits.

According to her irritated voice, Harry assumed that she was feeling much better and he was very glad for it. However she didn't call him amigo, so he suspected that she didn't fake her agitation.

"_**I don't know, you have to ask him," **_he replied truthfully, while rubbing his aching wrist and thinking about how to make it up to her. Just when he said it, he heard a soft lisp of Voldemort's robes as the other man approached them. Harry's back stiffened a little. Even Sheena looked up, regarding the newcomer closely before turning back to him and asking wearily.

"_**Who's that human?"**_

Harry cringed a bit as Riddle cried out in rage straightaway. It was probably a very long time since someone dared to call him _a mere human_, Harry thought.

"_**I'm Lord Voldemort you brassy little worm!" **_the dark wizard hissed back at her venomously.

Harry bit his sore lip to hold back a chuckle. He warned Voldemort that Sheena was rather impudent and obstinate.

The snake regarded the Dark Lord for several long seconds, then looked back at Harry and hissed sulkily.

"_**I don't like him."**_

She always spoke her mind. Harry had to cough to mask a fit of laughter. Few moments ago he wouldn't believe that he could smile again but Sheena has always managed to make him laugh somehow. That's why he liked her so much. However, he had to suppress his amusement for now and behave rationally. It was in her best interest after all.

"_**You should like him, Sheena. He saved your life."**_

Voldemort's rabid hissing which Harry heard until that moment came to a sudden halt. Sheena raised her head a little higher, using Harry's shoulder as a support for her heavy body.

"_**Isn't he your enemy?"**_ she asked, staring at Voldemort bluntly, while the wizard reciprocated her gaze.

"_**Eh … kinda … yeah,"**_ Harry muttered, looking away.

"_**Why would he save me then?"**_

"_**Because as you said**__** he's my**_ _**enemy, not yours Sheena**__**,"**_ Harry hissed quietly and then he sighed. _**"I promised him that he can keep you..."**_

"_**What?-!" **_

The sharp hiss nearly perforated Harry's ear.

"_**I'm sure he'll take much better care of you than I could ever provide. I'm certain you'll be happy … with him..."**_

Harry tried hard not to sound bitter, but he failed.

Voldemort was surprisingly silent for the moment, watching them intently. Harry could practically _feel_ his stare.

"_**And what about Brazil?" **_Sheena asked bitingly. _**"Haven't you promised to take me there as soon as possible?"**_

Harry shook his head slowly. His throat narrowed. He only knew how to disappoint his friends.

"_**I'm sorry Sheena," **_he whispered. _**"I can't keep that promise. I just wanted you to stay alive no matter what."**_

She gazed at him for a long time and then she finally laid her head on his shoulder.

"_**I see,"**_ she hissed. Her voice was more quiet and pleasant now. _**"Don't be so sad, amigo. This is still far better than being a prisoner again..."**_

Harry hugged her large, scaly body before releasing her. She climbed up the armchair, looking at Voldemort curiously.

Harry watched him regard her too, slightly disapproving expression written in his pale face. It disappeared the moment she moved forward and flicked her long forked tongue over his fingers.

"_**I might learn to like you,"**_ she hissed then. _**"Do you have any rats?"**_

Voldemort extended his hand and touched her head briefly. Then he moved it away and whispered.

"_**Downstairs."**_

Sheena slid down the armchair and set out for the exploration of her new home.

"_**I'm hungry. See you later, amigo...,"**_ she hissed quietly and then her long, scaly body slowly disappeared from Harry's sight.

**xxxxx**

_London, the Ministry of Magic_

_26__th_ _December 2000, __00__:__08_

Percy was still ahead of them. He walked calmly, resolutely, without any side-ways glances. The longer Hermione watched him, the more she arrived at a conclusion that Percy was not his usual self. Not because of the way he walked, but because of the way she felt around him. She didn't know whether to tell Ron about her suspicion again or ignore it. She quickly decided to wait a little longer until she had some tangible evidence.

They were approaching the Auror Headquarters now. As they walked through the long, deserted corridor, she recalled the last time they secretly came here to look for the evidence of Harry's presence. At that time they were convinced that the Leader was Voldemort's servant. Their surmise turned out to be incorrect in the end. The Leader was not at fault of Harry's captivity, so maybe he'll be able to help them now when Harry was missing again. It wouldn't have occur to her that this could be an option if Percy didn't suggest it himself. Now she regretted that she even considered this, no matter how logical it seemed to be. If Harry was looking for help for his snake, there were practically only two places where he could find some. One was the hospital, where Arthur, Kingsley and the rest of Dumbledore's Army went to search for him and the second was the Ministry.

But being here was way too dangerous because of the vampires, who could be waiting to attack their necks behind any corner. The fact that they didn't meet any of them yet didn't mean that this place was as safe as Percy for some reason considered it to be.

"We're here," Ron's brother suddenly said as he halted in front of the door to the Leader's office. The entrance was unguarded too and Hermione found it very strange. Why was everyone here so sure of their safeness?

"Percy, maybe we should...," Ron began quietly, but the other ginger young man already knocked on the door. It opened instantly and he stepped in without any hesitation. Ron and Hermione were left without any other option but to follow him inside.

It was a big, dark room with a classic, appealing arrangement of furniture. It could easily be a rest room instead of an office. But the last thing Hermione cared about at the moment was the decor. She immediately noticed the tall hooded figure of the Leader behind the worktable; her eyes then glanced over some stranger standing by his right side, until she fully focused on the young man sitting stiffly on a sofa close to the fireplace.

"What … what is _he_ doing here?-!" Ron yelled instantly, without greeting anyone, his finger accusingly pointing at Draco Malfoy, who looked at him with surprise before his facial expression slowly turned back to apathetic.

"My, my … what lovely guests came to visit me so late in the evening. Welcome," the Leader spoke pleasantly, undisturbed by Ron's outcry.

Hermione felt at least uncomfortable with the way he was staring at them. She opened her mouth to speak, however Ron was once again faster.

"He's a Death Eater!" he sputtered. "He works for You-Know-Who!"

"Ron Weasley, I assume," the Leader spoke softly and got up. He finally caught Ron's full attention as Hermione noticed. It didn't escape her notice how Ron froze a little. "And that girl beside you is Hermione Granger, correct?"

"Yeah, that's true," Ron finally said.

"Pleasure to meet you." The corners of the Leader's lips rose slightly. "Concerning Draco, you don't need to worry. He doesn't work for _You-Know-Who_ – or how you call him now – anymore, isn't that true Draco?"

The young blond man looked up for a second and then quickly looked away without saying a word.

"Oh, you must excuse him, the poor boy's too shy and traumatized," the Leader sighed with concern.

However, Hermione knew better. The brief moment their eyes met told her more than a thousand words. Draco Malfoy was terrified. No, it wasn't rash of them to come here – it was a grave mistake, she knew that much. Only if she could tell Ron to shut up without speaking aloud, because her boyfriend didn't realize it yet.

"Draco Malfoy?-! Shy and traumatized?-! Hahaha! Let me tell you something about him! He's a snobbish little bastard who loves to terrorize...!"

"Ron!" Hermione shouted as she saw how the Leader bared his white teeth slightly. Finally, he hushed up and Hermione used that pause to quickly glance towards Percy. He stood beside the Leader's table, looking at the ground completely uninterested. The sight of him made her bit her lip in worriment. Could he be cursed?

"Draco Malfoy works for me now," the Leader interrupted her thoughts coldly, most of the pleasantry gone from his voice. "That's all you need to know, though I'm sure this is not the reason why you came here."

Hermione coughed quietly to clear her throat. Perhaps talking was going to help them, she had to try it.

"Well, we are ... looking for Harry again. We hoped that maybe some of the Ministry employees saw him here..."

"Oh, Harry Potter, of course. Who else...," the hooded man whispered and then he leaned towards the suspiciously pale stranger in a perfect outfit by his right side, whispering something in his ear. The man nodded and left the room in haste without even looking at them.

"Actually, I know where Harry Potter is. But I don't think that _you_ want to know it. I'm sure you would find the answer too … upsetting," the Leader spoke bemusedly and propped himself against the desk. "Though I warned Percy this was going to happen, but he obviously didn't deem it necessary to inform you."

"Inform us about what?-! Where is Harry?-!" Ron cried, clenching his fists.

The Leader's perfect lips spread to form a half-smile.

"Well, if you insist... Your friend was seen in _You-Know-Who's_ presence a couple of minutes ago. So I dare to assume that he's either dead now or … not. If he's still alive I'm quite certain he's on an 'urgent' visit to Lord Voldemort's bedroom."

The room was deadly still.

Hermione could only wonder why she wasn't stunned. She expected to be shocked beyond any measure, but she wasn't. From the way Harry talked about the cave incident and all the things which followed, she realized that she was only mildly flabbergasted by this revelation, which didn't diminish her fear for Harry in the slightest. No one could say the same about Ron, though. He looked as if someone was throttling him.

"Also," the Leader continued dispassionately, "knowing the boy's luck and Voldemort's obvious weakness for _his enemies_, I wouldn't be worried too much. I expect the second option to be much closer to the reality." The Leader's lips suddenly formed a bitter grin. "However, from the point of view of the Minister's Highest Advisor, I'm afraid that Potter's behavior can be easily assessed as an act of treachery against..."

"YOU LIAR!"

Ron roared as he finally found his lost voice, breathing heavily, looking daggers at the other man.

"Harry … he would never do such a thing! Harry would never betray us! _Never!_"

The Leader stood up again and slowly approached them.

"I have no reason to lie, Mr. Weasley. Why should I? Personally, Mr. Potter's _affairs_ are none of my business."

"_HARRY WOULD NEVER...!_"

Ron's voice lapsed as he was getting very close to a breakdown, Hermione noticed it apprehensively.

Then, suddenly, the door opened and two persons stepped inside. The whiff of cold air accompanying their movement ruffled Hermione's hair a bit.

The Leader in the same moment breathed in and his head moved sharply so he could look directly at her. She could feel the powerful gaze of his navy-blue eyes even from beneath his cape. Hermione could swear that his stare could easily break into the deepest parts of her mind and stop her heart by a mere thought. She took a step backwards, but a firm clasp of a cold feminine hand on her shoulder stopped her. Whoever stood behind her she couldn't turn around to look at her.

"Ron," she breathed out instinctively asking her boyfriend for a help. But he didn't hear her as he watched the approaching familiar figure, horrified. The face of the incoming man lost all the little contrast it used to have against the pale blond hair, yet his eyes remained the same cold grey depths, maybe even more persuasive now than before.

It was _Lucius Malfoy _coming towards them with his perpetual smirk firmly etched in his pointed face.

**xxxxx**

_London, __the Dark Lord's hideout_

_26__th_ _December 2000, __01:07_

A weird silence surrounded them for a moment. Harry didn't know what to say, so he rather stayed quiet. It was Voldemort who finally broke the tension as he began to pace around.

"I haven't forgiven anything, Potter," he hissed.

Harry nodded. He knew that much.

"I'm sorry," he whispered quietly in spite of that. He truly regretted sticking his nose inside that Pensieve. There was nothing he could do about it now.

Voldemort halted, regarding him suspiciously.

"I believe that is your favourite phrase, isn't it boy?"

Harry looked at the ground.

"Do you think that I'm like your pet snake, who's satisfied with your stupid apology?" he spoke maliciously.

Harry glanced up, his bright green eyes meeting the red ones.

"No," he said simply. "I just wanted you to know that I regret it..."

"I don't care, Potter!" Riddle hissed suddenly, raising his wand again. "You'll pay for what you've done!"

"Can I have a one last question then?" Harry asked stubbornly.

Voldemort's glare was scorching yet the youngster didn't look away. He was waiting whether Voldemort's curiosity was going to take over his fury.

Finally the Dark Lord lowered his wand a little and huffed through his 'nose'.

"Very well," he whispered acidly. "Spit it out, brat!"

Harry slowly leaned against the armchair, turning his eyes towards the fireplace.

"You want my death so much … it makes me wonder why you didn't kill him," he whispered.

The Dark Lord didn't react. Not a single muscle moved in his face. Harry could see it in his peripheral vision.

"Why didn't you kill Negura?" he specified, looking at him directly.

Voldemort held his position without any visible movement for some time. Only a slight clenching of his fist proved that he hadn't frozen. Harry saw this and patiently waited, wondering whether he would eventually come to learn the answer.

Finally, a couple of seconds later Riddle spoke. His voice remained as cold and venomous as always.

"Do you really think that I didn't try, Potter?"

His eyes gleamed dangerously.

"Do you think that I didn't try everything I could think of?-!"

Harry saw him bare his teeth in rage. "Yet none of it worked! It took me days and days and that freak was still alive! Later, he even _mocked me_! So I ultimately cut him to several pieces and send him back to Romania, each of his parts to a different location. It had to take him months to put himself back together!"

Voldemort snorted in disgust and squeezed his wand so wildly that a few golden sparks escaped from it. Then he turned around and came to the window, looking behind the drapes.

"Twenty years later," he continued, suddenly his voice much colder, "I've finally mastered a technique which should be destructive enough to kill him. I was so close to my goal, I was winning the war here, I had everything I wanted and I was waiting for a sign. I wanted to know when the right time was to get my revenge..."

Voldemort paused for a moment, turning back to Harry, approaching him slowly.

"That's also why I was so obsessed with prophecies at that time. I was waiting for one about me and Negura! Can you imagine my surprise, Potter, when Snape came to me and told me that the real threat to my existence wasn't a dangerous dark lord's hunter but some meaningless, pitiful boy, who wasn't even born yet! Naturally, I wanted to kill him - you and your parents if you want - on that instant, so I could fully focus on what I considered as my real enemy.

That was a mistake, I admit. I had underestimated you, brat. I had underestimated your incredible luck. I failed to see that there's no big difference between you and that vampiric freak. You had actually hurt me much more than Negura ever did."

Voldemort was bitter now, Harry could still taste the hatred, but it was in a different form. He decided to break Riddle's monologue and oppose to what he was saying.

"I'm nothing like Negura," he said, calmly.

"You've destroyed my Horcruxes!" Voldemort screamed, his wand once again pointed at Harry's chest.

It made Harry clench his fists.

"Oh, really? This is new. Until this moment I've always thought that it was just one of them which I destroyed. By mistake. I was twelve years old, poisoned by Basilisk venom, dying in the Chamber of Secrets and there was also a younger version of you who was pissing me off so I just stabbed his diary with the Bazilisk fang to get rid of him! I didn't even know what I was doing at that time! I didn't even know whether it was going to work!"

"What are you talking about, brat?-! What about the other Horcruxes? I thought it was you...," Voldemort approached him, his probing glare trying to unveil the truth in Harry's eyes.

Harry didn't look away. He faced him calmly as he replied.

"I can't deny that I've tried my best to find them but I didn't destroy them! Well, I suppose I would do that if there weren't dozens of other people eager to take a part in your defeat! Everyone wanted to take revenge upon you Voldemort! Everyone!"

The Dark Lord let out a furious howl before turning back at Harry.

"Then tell me who destroyed them! I know only about Longbottom!"

"Neville didn't know what he was doing! He killed Naginy only because I told him to do so! He didn't know anything so don't you dare to hurt him, bastard! And about the others – I'd rather die than tell you!"

"So it is you after all who was trying to get me killed!" Voldemort cried.

Harry pressed his lips together so much that the bitten flesh began to bleed again.

"Yes and guess why!" he yelped back just as loudly, scrambling at his feet. "Because you've tried to kill me many times over! Do you really think that if you hadn't attack me or my parents that I would ever go after you? No! I would give a damn about you! I'm not like Negura who decides from time to time that he is momentarily bored so maybe he should go and kill some dark lord! No, thanks! I just always wanted to live a normal life and you made it totally impossible!

But, honestly, did you think that I would just sit back and wait for you to find me and kill me? Did you think that Dumbledore wouldn't show me what I was supposed to do?-! Hell, I knew very well that if I didn't do anything you would ultimately succeed - so I had to fight you off! And then, when I nearly get it done I found out that I still have to die to defeat you! That's why I came to you in the Forbidden Forest. To be killed and give someone else a chance to strike you down!

So am I like Negura, Voldemort, am I?"

Harry pressed his lips together again, slowing his violent breathing.

"Do you think I had fun doing that? Do you think I wanted to die or become a murderer? No, you bastard! You forced me into that role, don't you see it?-!"

Voldemort stared at him, speechless. Harry briefly wondered whether what he said really had such an impact.

"Not all of your enemies are the same. Not everyone is vile and treacherous. Not everyone is after your power, thirsting for endless glory! Maybe you don't believe me but it's true."

Harry shuffled his feet and sighed tiredly.

"I really, really hated you, despised you and everything... But it's different now! I don't want to be the one who has to kill you … I've never _really_ wanted it anyway... I even told this to the Order … and they were kinda horrified."

Voldemort's nostrils widened as he took a deep breath. He evidently forced himself to shut his mouth, otherwise his jaw would probably drop.

"You've helped me a lot during the last few days," Harry spoke again, staring at the ground, watching the small particles of dust flying above the carpet. "I know that you were only doing it for your own benefit, but it doesn't make much difference to me. I … just for a moment … I really wanted to help you too..."

Astounded silence. That would be the best definition of the Dark Lord's reaction. Once Harry saw it he almost wanted to take it back. Yet it was too late now, so he quickly tried to explain it.

"I know that this sounds crazy… However, when I was in your memory – and I really regret sticking my nose into it - I desperately wanted to hinder Negura from hurting you. Don't get me wrong – it wasn't because you didn't deserve it for all those hideous crimes you'd committed, but because it was so unfair! How could he do that! How could he do that to you when he knew that you had feelings for him!"

"I've never...," Voldemort hissed a protest, but Harry went on.

"And then I tried to imagine what I would do if something like that happened to me. What if - oh God - Ron, Hermione or … or Ginny tried to kill me for whatever reason. If they stabbed me into my back even though they knew that I loved them. That I lived in blind belief that they really cared a great deal about me.

I'm sure it would destroy me... It would shatter my belief in love for good. I can't imagine what would I do … I think that this is something no one should ever go through!"

Harry's throat burned. Still it felt so good to spit it out. He could once again breathe freely.

"I've never understood your disgust and hatred towards every form of love before. Yet I think I can understand it now … in a way. But what's beyond my comprehension is that you gave up so easily. That you've never really tried to face it! What happened cannot be undone. But it's been decades ago! Don't you think that it's time to move on?"

"Move on, Potter?" Voldemort's laughter was short, cold and mirthless. He flicked his wand irritatedly and several green sparksescaped the tip making Harry shiver.

"What exactly do you mean by that? I have no intention to change anything. I'm quite happy the way I am right now."

"Are you?"

"Yes, I am," Riddle hissed back.

Harry wasn't going to back off now. He felt that if he pursued this he might even show Voldemort how wrong he was.

"You looked a lot happier back there, in the memory," he pointed out.

"That was a LIE! It wasn't real, brat!" Voldemort screamed.

"IT WAS REAL FOR YOU! Don't you remember?" Harry shouted back.

Then, Riddle's self-control snapped. He took few steps closer and stabbed the tip of his wand between Harry's ribs. Harry had to bite his lip to overcome the urge to flinch in discomfort.

Voldemort's long fingers curled around it as if in agony and the following second Harry witnessed something close to a miracle. All the pain, misery and loneliness of the Dark Lord's life was suddenly revealed in his stare and Harry instantly recognized that small hurting child who was together with him and Dumbledore in the _limbo_ state. He saw it in the depths of Voldemort's eyes; he noticed how even now, three years later, it still suffered the same. Strangely, he wasn't repulsed by it anymore.

"Shut up, Potter," Riddle wheezed and his eyes clouded again. "Just shut up already! It's over! It doesn't matter anymore!"

"But..."

"IT DOESN'T MATTER!"

The tip of the yew wand burned a hole in his T-shirt, making his skin blister, but Harry couldn't just let this go, he couldn't leave that child alone again like before. He slowly shook his head and his fingers curled around the hand in which Voldemort held his wand. Harry pushed it away from his chest and took a step closer.

"It does … it matters to me...," he whispered.

"What?-!" Voldemort hissed furiously, freeing his hand instantly. He stepped back, but Harry followed him.

"What ... you idiot … what are you trying to pull?"

Harry reached out and grasped Voldemort's silky robes. If he was going to be killed then it should be worth it.

"No one has ever healed your wounds, is it true?" he asked quietly, coming even closer. "I certainly had a miserable life except for several light moments, still it's nothing close to the horrors you went through."

"Potter!" Voldemort hissed threateningly, his wand dangerously close to Harry's face.

_If he's going to kill me, he's doing it now,_ Harry thought as his arms wound around Riddle's back.

"Later. We can argue, hate and fight each other later. This is more important," he said quietly and bestowed his head on a hard, bony shoulder.

There was a time when he would be disgusted to lay a finger on his enemy, but that was before, when he had though that Voldemort was half a living nightmare and half a madman, who had nothing in common with ordinary humans.

The truth was – as always – somewhere else.

Harry subconsciously tightened his hold, feeling the silk smoothly slide over his face, the warmth spreading through his body. What surprised him most was his continuing existence. Something held the Dark Lord back from tearing him apart. The thought of it made him chuckle.

"Potter!"

Harry felt how his name vibrated in Voldemort's thorax as he spoke.

"What do you think you're you doing?"

The cold hand seized the back of his neck, evoking a rush of shivers along his spine. The touch was one moment soft, another one firm, nearly painful as if Voldemort couldn't decide whether snap or caress his nape.

"This is called kindness. Do you like it?" Harry responded quietly, wondering whether he could do a little bit more. Maybe he could show him that living people are much more pleasant companions than the dead ones. He felt a sudden inexplicable need to show him that not every touch has to be harmful.

"You … little brat..." Voldemort's voice turned wheezy.

"Don't you want to know what _real _affection feels like? Aren't you curious? Not even a little?" Harry breathed out, gazing up into the Dark Lord's unreadable face.

One of his hands which was wrapped around Voldemort's back released its hold on the soft cloth and moved along the protruding spine, fingertips gently touching each vertebra on their way upwards. Harry's eyelids closed slowly, but he didn't press them together. They just gently rested against each other as he willed all his muscles to relax. He was so close to the other that Voldemort certainly had to feel it. Harry gradually slowed his breathing, deepening it while listening to Voldemort's, which seemed much louder now. He leaned his head in the direction of the warm puffs of air, until his slightly sweaty forehead touched the other man's cold chin. Harry felt him move away, yet he didn't look up, he didn't pursue the contact. He waited, using that moment to synchronize their breaths even more. He cleared his head of all thoughts and just stood there, inhaling and exhaling together as if they were just one being. Surprisingly, the chin slowly returned to rest against his forehead, creating just a barely perceptible pressure.

Voldemort broke the fragile harmony as he breathed in deeply all of a sudden, sucking the air through his nose. And then his body shuddered as if he was cold and Harry unconsciously closed the distance completely, offering his warmth.

The Dark Lord's body felt hard and cold, just like Harry remembered it from the cave.

He felt him shuddered harder, whispering something quickly, inarticulately. The chin slowly moved over Harry's forehead – left and right – and then the hand which seemed frozen on Harry's nape moved upwards, cold fingers combing through the mass of black hair, fisting it convulsively.

Harry slowly bent his head backward at the feeling of it. The hard chin was gone now, replaced with something much softer and smoother. Harry opened his eyes – only a little – the other man's face was so close to his that he saw it in a blur. Still he noticed that his eyes were closed as well, his features relaxed and his expression strangely content. His seemingly lipless mouth just barely grazed against Harry's cheek.

It unlocked Harry's stupor. His hand moved again, leaving the place between Voldemort's shoulder blades where it rested until now to touch and caressed the cold, porcelain-like skin, gliding over the other man's neck towards his earlobe and forehead, then down to a brow ridge, following the unusual nasal part, touching it experimentally, then stoking the sunken cheek and back up towards the temple...

Voldemort's breath grew faster and faster … he was shivering unceasingly, but he didn't moved away and Harry - tempted and enthusiastic - leaned closer still, until his warm lips softly touched the sharp jaw.

"Enough!" Riddle cried suddenly and pushed Harry away. The youngster didn't expect it and stumbled, nearly fell.

"That's enough!" Voldemort repeated wheezily, his shoulders heavily shaking. But when he looked back at Harry, the scorching quality of his glare remained intact.

"How _dare you_ to play with me like this … Potter!"

"You liked it," Harry accused quietly, however under Voldemort's solid glare he began to realize what he had done.

An embarrassed silence instantly spread around them. Or, more specifically, only around Harry, because he was certain that Voldemort had no reason to feel embarrassed. His face began to turn red again and he cursed himself for it.

What was he thinking, why was he doing that? It was something far beyond his comprehension now.

He had to admit he didn't understand himself anymore. It seemed to him that the only rational explanation was that his brain was seriously damaged by the Cruciatus curse. Maybe it would be a good thing if Voldemort decided to finish it now, because Harry would be spared of this mental turmoil.

But Voldemort wasn't attacking him. He was merely watching him, making Harry more and more nervous. And he was also biting his thin lower lip with his pointed teeth. Harry had never seen him do that before. Could it mean that Riddle was at a loss of what to do just like he was?

"Potter...," Voldemort finally spoke.

His mouth tightened for a split second, forming a thin line before relaxing again.

"I assume that you don't find me repulsive enough. Therefore I've decided that I shall make you see me that way."

Before Harry could do anything to prevent it, he was thrown at a distant wall behind him. The youngster howled in pain as his back rammed into the rough bricks. He closed his eyes, expecting another round of torture when something hard and cold came crashing down on his lips.

It hurt. Badly.

His eyelids flew open in shock – it felt like his head was stuck in jaws of a huge gripper. The back of his neck was pressed into the cold wall and in the front there was … _Voldemort,_ who was mashing their mouths together with full force.

Even a thirsty man finding a cup of water in a desert wouldn't be more _eager_.

Harry didn't even have a time to think what it all meant – he just wanted to save his poor lips from pulverization. He grasped the taller man's shoulders and tried to push him away. It took him three more attempts before he succeeded and all he could say afterward was...

"Ouch!"

He wiped his lips furiously. That was definitely the worst kiss he had ever...

_Oh, Merlin. _

Harry's eyes grew wide in disbelief.

_Did Voldemort just..._

The Dark Lord quickly stepped back, glaring at Harry like a moment ago.

"Stop showing me your sympathy, Potter!" he hissed harshly. "The way you look at me with so much pity makes me sick. I want you to despise me and hate me entirely when I kill you!"

He retreated a few more steps, hiding his wand in the sleeve and wiping his mouth.

"But for now … you shall rejoice Potter. You'll live for a little longer. I'm too displeased by your incredibly impertinent behavior to enjoy your death right now..."

He turned away from Harry's numb stare and closed the cabinet with the Pensieve using a quiet command in Parseltongue. Then he pulled out the wand again and removed the most obvious signs of their previous duel, which basically meant that he repaired the table and also took Harry's wand from the floor, hiding it in his pocket. All the time he profoundly ignored Harry's presence.

And Harry was glad. Because he was kissed by his archenemy. His mouth burned.

It was an awful kiss, but still…

It was only natural that the youngster instantly began to question himself whether it was or wasn't his fault or how long Voldemort desired this...

"Ah," he moaned. He couldn't think that – it was driving him insane.

But the question was … _was he repulsed? Was he?_

Negura … Harry quickly decided to think about the vampire. It was so much safer. Also, he needed to talk, he needed to forget...

"I think that you're not killing me now, because you want to kill _him_ first, am I right?" Harry asked aloud, once he regained control over his voice. Consulting his death was suddenly much more comfortable topic for a discussion than few moments ago. Anything to talk about but _that_. It didn't mean that he wasn't curious why Riddle decided to kiss _him _of all the people.

"Be quiet, Potter."

"I..."

"I said be _quiet_!"

Harry hesitated only for a moment. He tempted his fate too much tonight and it would be unwise to argue with him again. Besides, he was too tired. He slowly, carefully came over to the old sofa and sat down, trying to find an acceptable position for his hurt back. As he was practically hurt everywhere, such a position probably didn't even exist.

Instead of squirming he rather turned to watch the Dark Lord.

Riddle meanwhile pulled out several small vials from the table. Some of them contained transparent liquid, the others were completely black, but there was one which caught Harry's attention. It's content had a flaming red colour, like a fire fettered behind the crystal walls. Harry immediately remembered Hermione's charm –the blue flames which protected them from freezing when they were on the run. This one, however, looked much more dangerous.

Voldemort evidently sensed Harry's interest in the small bottle, so he took that vial and hid it in another of his invisible pockets.

A sudden loud knock on the door broke through Harry's thoughts. He glanced up at Voldemort, who returned the stare, which clearly said 'don't speak and stay where you are'.

"Enter," he said coldly then and Harry turned his head to see a Death Eater coming inside. He was without a mask, still Harry didn't instantly recognize him. The man knelt and bowed deeply before the Dark Lord. He kept his head down, not looking anywhere else, except his Master's shoes.

"I have news concerning the Leader, My Lord," he said in a deep voice.

Harry's curiosity was peaked. He would like to hear those news too. Maybe he will finally find out who that leader guy was.

"Speak then," Voldemort returned icily and the man bowed even more.

"As you expected, Master, he took three members of the Order as a hostage. He probably expects Potter to try to save them."

Harry's breath stopped.

_What?-!_

What did he mean when he said that the Leader captured his friends?-! Wasn't the Leader a Ministry employee? Why would he take his friends as hostages? It didn't make any sense … unless … unless the Leader was responsible for his imprisonment in the cave. But why would he want to kill him? Harry didn't even know him!

"Who has he captured?" Voldemort asked casually.

"Two Weasleys and that mudblood girl, My Lord. He possibly plans to turn them into vampires..."

"WHAT?-!" Harry roared and jumped from the sofa. He couldn't stay silent anymore.

_Hermione … and one of the Weasleys was quite certainly Ron! They were in mortal peril?-! _

The reaction of the Death Eater, who naturally looked up to see what kind of a creature could produce such a loud scream, was surely very comical, but Harry paid it no attention.

All he wanted to do was to grasp the poor man and shake out his soul if he refused to tell him, where his friends were.

He would've reached his goal if it wasn't for something incredibly strong that grasped the back of his T-shirt, throttling him as he desperately tried to claw at the shocked Death Eater.

"My … Lord...," the man stuttered in shock. "That's … that's..."

"Potter. I know. You may go, Avery," Voldemort said coldly, keeping a firm hold on Harry's clothing.

Harry struggled harder, his T-shirt was going to rip apart soon.

"Thank you, My Lord," the man bowed deeply again, casting several surreptitious glances at Harry before slowly backing out from the room.

"Oh … and Avery...," the Dark Lord spoke pleasantly after the retreating man.

"_Obliviate_."

Then the door loudly closed and they were once again alone.

"Very clever of you to show yourself to my Death Eaters, Potter," Voldemort whispered slyly. "As if I didn't have enough reasons to kill you right now."

"Let me go!" Harry screamed and finally freed himself from the Dark Lord's grasp.

"I have to help them!" he cried and launched himself at the doors. They were, of course, locked.

"I see that saving your friends is a full-time job, Potter."

Harry heard Riddle mock him again. He turned to him, furious, yet Voldemort paid him no attention as he approached the fireplace.

"LET ME GO!" he cried, but dark wizard just hissed irritably.

"What you don't realize, brat, is that you're _my captive_ now. I have no reason to set you free... And even if I had one, what makes you think that someone as pitiful as you would ever stand a chance against Negura?-! He would bite your head off before … Potter?"

Harry sank to his knees. He felt so sick that he might have vomited instantly. It felt like a deadly virus in his blood or a severe poison in his stomach.

"Negura," he breathed out heavily. "Does it mean that he … he is the Leader?" he stuttered out brokenly.

His heart fluttered madly in his chest. The vision of his friends being in that monster's grasp made any rational thoughts impossible. He shook his head wildly and then screamed out in denial, scratching his face, tugging at his hair.

"Oh ... didn't you know this, Harry?" Voldemort smirked, coming to squat beside him. "How amusing… Everyone knows except the Order, Umbridge and Harry Potter."

"I must … I must SAVE THEM!" Harry roared, not listening to what the older wizard was saying. He couldn't allow Ron and Hermione to meet the same fate as Voldemort. Anyone of his friends. He would find a way to stop Negura no matter what, but he needed to get out of here first...

A cold hand touched his heated cheek, his glasses and eyebrow and up it went over his forehead to fist his black untidy hair.

"A little desperate boy...," Voldemort hissed and hauled Harry up on his feet.

"So you really want to fight him … very well then … you shall get that chance. I could keep you here and let you howl in misery for a while but watching your short, fruitless struggle against that freak is going be far more entertaining."

Harry gasped for breath as Voldemort leaned closer.

"Maybe it's time for the Boy-Who-Lived to learn that his luck is neither invincible nor eternal. I'm certain that Negura will give you a proper lesson. Just make sure you'll survive it, brat, because it is _I _who will kill you in the end."

And then Harry felt that he was being pushed towards the fireplace, where the wild flames once again blazed. His heartbeat sped up again. As they passed the armchair, the Dark Lord grasped Harry's cloak and sweater, forcing the younger man to take the items from him. They stopped inches from the fire. The scorching heat was nearly insufferable. Harry realized that Riddle's cold hand moved again, pushing something into a back pocket of his trousers.

"Farewell, Potter - for now. And…," Voldemort smirked cruelly, "watch your neck, boy."

The dark wizard threw something into the flames, which instantly turned green and pushed Harry inside. Their eyes met for one last time, before Riddle hissed something and up Harry went through many chimneys to an unknown destination.

_**R&R**_


	33. Confrontation, part I

**Author's note: **I'm very sorry for a delay in update. This chapter is somewhat shorter, but I still hope you'll like it. Thank you for reviewing the previous one and showing me your support!

As usual, special thanks to my dear beta ******TheSecretUchiha** who did an amazing job correcting this chapter for you.

**Special note: **_"dialogue in Romanian*"_

_xxxxx  
_

**Confrontation, part 1**

xxxxx

_London, the Ministry of Magic_

_26th December 2000, 00:17 _

The Leader heard the quiet steps all the way down to his office. Leontina, as usual, didn't even bother to knock on the door and stepped in without permission, swaying her hips seductively as she approached him. But Dragomir paid her no attention as his cold, furious eyes focused on the other vampire.

It was Lucius.

Either Nestor didn't listen to his order when he sent him to tell the older Malfoy not to come here, or Lucius chose to ignore it, which he guessed to be the case. Newborn vampires always gave him pain.

This way his _child _would complicate matters which, up to now, were going rather smoothly. Before he could adjust the plans, the waft of cold air from the opened door sent the sweet scent of the two unaware humans before him into his empty lungs, igniting a strong desire for blood and … giving him a sudden recognition.

He took a deep breath, sucking the air in greedily as his eyes returned to that small human female, who was fearfully gazing back. Leontina meanwhile came up to his table and grasped the little witch's neck firmly. A weak whimper escaped her mouth as she asked the other, most likely her boyfriend, for help.

At that time Dragomir already remembered where he smelled her scent before.

"_My little thief … so I've finally found you,*"_ he whispered maliciously. The girl – Hermione was her name – was a brave one as he noticed. She was fighting her terror, quickly thinking of some salutary plan, even though she recognized the cold grasp of a vampiric hand on her neck. Her bravery was worth admiration.

"_Are you going to kill her or shall I do it?*"_ Leontina quietly asked, irritated by the lack of his action.

"Why isn't ANYONE here listening to me?-!"

The yell of that annoying redheaded boy caught his attention. The colour of the boy's face matched his hair as he glared at the smirking Lucius.

"What exactly is the other Malfoy doing here?-! Is he also working for the Ministry now? And since when has You-Know-Who set his Death Eaters free from his service? If you don't know, this guy is a cruel madman who loves to torture innocent people..."

Dragomir stopped listening to that tirade at that point. The ginger idiot didn't notice that he was stirring very dangerous desires in his young _child_. The sight of bared teeth made him act. This boy wasn't allowed to die yet. Deaths were no longer allowed at the Ministry court. He had to keep his reputation flawless.

He said only two words.

"Lucius, no."

The ginger-headed boy turned around and squeaked in horror. The older Malfoy cast a quick, disapproving glance at him, but listened to the order – for a moment. Then he licked his elongated teeth, obviously enjoying the terror in the youngster's eyes.

The Leader decided that that was the moment to take control over the situation.

"As you can see," he whispered, "Lucius Malfoy is one of the many victims of the vampiric attack on Azkaban. We are currently negotiating a temporary truce with them. They were supposed to be a part of Voldemort's new army. Without them he will lose for sure."

Dragomir heard how Draco Malfoy shifted in his seat and noticed that the Granger girl was watching him. He was well aware that she didn't believe him a single word. Silly girl. If she weren't so determined to find the truth, she could live a little longer. This way he'll just use her to find his _letter_ and bring an end to her meaningless life.

But that read-headed idiot could be spared as long as he remains clueless.

"You can't negotiate with vampires!" Ron sputtered disbelievingly, which made Negura laugh against his will.

"_Dragomir, what are you doing?*"_ Leontina hissed venomously, interrupting his mirth. _"Why are you having this discussion with him?*" _

He turned to look at her. She still stood there, furious, holding the girl's neck, stomping her foot impatiently. _"Umbridge's coming here and yes, she's not alone! You're not going to fool her forever!*"_

He extended his hearing and had to admit that she was right. He suppressed a foul curse and looked back at the boy.

"It's time for you to go. As you can see, Harry's not here and I can do nothing to help you find him. Take your girl and leave now. Draco, you will accompany them." Without turning his head, he continued. "Leontina, take Percy and go stop her. For all I care, dance for her or something, but stop her. Lucius, you will stay here. _Is that clear_?"

For a second, no one moved. Then Draco slowly rose from the sofa and headed towards the door without a single look towards Ron or Hermione. Leontina finally released her hold of Hermione's neck and the girl jumped away as if she was burned.

"Wait!" Ron called out, confused. "Percy's coming with us!"

"No, he's not," Hermione quickly whispered.

"But..."

"Trust me Ron," she hissed urgently as she dragged him after Draco. "He doesn't want to go with us..." Dragomir didn't doubt that she recognised his Imperious curse which he used to control Percy Weasley's mind.

Once they disappeared behind the door, Leontina turned to him and said in a cold voice.

"She knows. What are you going to do about it?"

He sighed quietly and slowly nodded.

"Don't worry, Leontina, I'll take care of it. She won't be alive when the morning comes."

As he passed her, their eyes met again.

"Don't you have a work to do?" he hissed acidly and turned towards the entrance, ignoring her soft, amused reply.

"Yes, My Leader."

xxxxx

From a distant corner of the room Lucius was silently watching them. As they both left, a large smirk appeared on his face. It was time for him to follow his own plan as well.

xxxxx

_London, Knockturn Alley_

_26th December, 02:12_

When Harry finally stopped spinning, he instantly fell face forward onto a soot covered stone and heard the bridge of his 'new' glasses snap.

"Gosh!" he cursed and snuffed out dirt from his nose. Dizzy and black-eyed he got to his feet, holding the fractured glasses to his face. He couldn't see anything over the soot in his eyes. Guided only by his touch he felt for the way out of the narrow fireplace. As he finally found the outlet and climbed outside, he hit his head twice on the mantelpiece, for good measure.

"Ow," he grumbled, massaging his scalp where a distinct bump was beginning to form.

He wiped his burning eyes (smearing more grime over his face) and looked around the large, dimly lit room. His facial expression turned from confused to surprised before finally settling on slightly disapproving.

"Borgin and Burkes," he snorted as he finished scrutinizing the familiar shop devoted to the Dark Arts. "Voldemort's got to be feeling nostalgic that he keeps open an escape route to his previous employer."

The dingy space smelled of decayed eggs, musty drapery, old wax and pungent smoke, which was coming from barely smouldering candles. Harry felt absolutely no desire to dawdle here, however he couldn't just go to the Ministry unarmed. He had to 'borrow' one of these artefacts, learn to use it properly and take Negura by surprise. Only then he could get the necessary advantage he needed to save his friends from the horrible fate.

A mere thought of them made his stomach knit and his knees tremble. He had to focus on breathing deeply and repeating '_Five mottos __of a competent Auror'_ to master this momentary indisposition. He recalled how boring it sounded when listening to Gawain Robards' lectures during the Auror training. Now, when the situation required him to apply his knowledge and skills, he found out how difficult it was to abide with these precepts.

_Trust yourself. _

Harry took another deep breath.

_Constant vigilance. _

He gritted his teeth, unwillingly imagining Moody's distorted face.

_Don't be rash._

_Avoid distractions._

_Don't panic._

"Hell, yeah, don't panic. Easier said than done," he strained through his teeth. He just needed to do something, that was what always helped him the most. But no matter how much he wanted to, he couldn't just burst into the Leader's office, 'throw down the glove' and hope to win a duel when _he didn't even have a wand_. Besides, if Voldemort said that there was practically no way to kill the guy then he was probably right. But there was one thing Harry knew for certain. If that monster dared to hurt his friends he was absolutely sure that he would find one.

First of all he needed something that he could effectively use against him, but his brain didn't give him any ideas at the moment. He approached a large counter where most of the Dark Artefacts seemed to be deposited. He glanced over freaky glass eyes and evil-looking masks, which he found absolutely inapplicable. Then he glanced over rusty spiked instruments which were piled on a heap beside skulls and bones and packs of bloodied cards. Finally he stopped at the other end of the counter. There was a large object concealed under a heavy black cloth. Its shape reminded Harry of old paintings from Hogwarts. It was propped against the wall, perfectly hidden from a sight of common customers.

Harry's curiosity was peaked.

It was the only object in the room, which led him to an assumption that it was something exceedingly dangerous – which meant something he was looking for. With the utmost care he seized a hem of the dusty cloth and slowly pulled it away.

And he was instantly disappointed by a sight of a murky silver mirror, old and blackened at the edges due to a thick layer of foulness. He noticed an inscription carved around its bottom, but as his interest was already gone, he didn't even try to puzzle it out. His eyes moved up to regard his own reflection out of a vague curiosity. Dust and dirt was smeared all over his face and hair, his glasses were broken and deformed and there was blood on his chin, possibly coming from his bitten lower lip. All in all he looked gruesome.

What was worse, the mirror showed he wasn't alone. No doubt, there was someone else standing in a shadow behind him. He jumped a little and turned around, but the room was empty. Getting the clue, he muttered under his breath.

"Oh - right, it must be just another Mirror of Erised or something," he grumbled and turned back, expecting to see Ginny or his parents to stand beside him.

Only they were not. Instead of them someone else took the place by his side.

What - or rather _who _- he saw stole his breath completely.

His reflection was fascinated with the companion just like he was - maybe even a little bit more, as he noticed with a certain discomfiture. In spite of not moving his body he saw himself raise his dirty hands, one of them coming to rest on that pale, inhuman face, sliding down the long throat, over the snowy chest, feeling each of his protruding ribs under the stretched skin and then boldly disappearing beneath the airy dark clothes, moving down … down...

Harry's previous shock multiplied and reached such a magnitude that in his stupefied brain remained no space for any sort of reaction. He just stood there without any movement, breathlessly watching the unabashed performance of their animated reflections.

Meanwhile, the other hand of his image intertwined their fingers, his tanned digits looked ridiculously short compared to the long, white, spider-like ones as they slowly knotted together. And then the Harry in the mirror brushed his lips against the other man's pair, lightly and innocently at first, but the touches quickly grew bolder and bolder as their mouths met again and again, licking and sucking and finally kissing as deeply as humanly possible.

Harry felt as if his body was thrown into a cauldron filled with molten lava. Strong shivers ran down his spine at the sight of those long, nearly translucent claws threading through his thick hair, tugging at his scalp viciously in an impatient manner, before scratching the skin on his neck, tearing his shirt apart and discarding it quickly, while their mouths still moved together, tongues curling and uncurling, becoming more and more hungry and possessive. The flaming, lustful red eyes ignited something inside him, made his heart beat at an erratic speed, creating the heat which was threatening to devour him just like the lipless mouth attached to his in an endless kiss...

Harry was bathing in sweat, unable to tear his eyes of the scene, wishing to stop it as much as wanting to watch this continue on and on. His acute arousal was making it all worse. He was stripped of any rational thoughts and, for a moment, he desired nothing more than to be the Harry behind the glass, to feel what he was feeling, to forget everything and indulge in the word of forbidden, sinful delights... Curiously enough, his wishes were becoming truth. He began to perceive the softest touch of the cool skin beneath his burning fingers, the spicy smell of their mixed heavy breaths, the salty-sweet taste on his tongue and the exquisite, overwhelming pleasure rushing through his body in unceasing waves. The experience itself could easily set him free from the clutches of the earthbound reality. His mind delved into it thoughtlessly, going blank in a wishful forgetfulness.

And then something inside him suddenly rose to protest.

"_Stop!_" he cried out and his stiffened hands threw the cloth back over the mirror.

The spell was instantly broken and he woke up from a trance, remembering that he was Harry Potter and his mission was to save his friends from a certain death, not to wank here over some perverted mirror. Shame was eating him alive because of what he had seen, how he had felt during that and because of his obvious arousal which only very slowly began to cease.

"What … what the hell was that?-!" he stuttered, sucking the air in with quick gasps.

"What's this crap? That is _not _the Mirror of Erised! I'm _not_ desiring that! Where'd this piece of junk get the insane idea that I'd want to do these things with a man?-! What's worse - with _him_?-!"

To make it all the more intolerable, a substantial part of his thoughts were still dwelling on his confused feelings.

He found it eminently disturbing that the whole experience felt so good. Shouldn't he be grossed out? Once again during this evening he had to doubt his sanity.

Then the anger joined the growing chaos in his head as he realized that he was losing precious time by contemplating this event over and over again, instead of focusing on his top priority which was saving his friends.

He took a step backwards and then another one, slowly retreating until his back met an old, creaky table in the middle of the room.

It was then when he felt something in his trouser pocket – something Voldemort (he felt another rush of heat just at the thought of his name) put there before sending him here. Quickly he reached behind and to his utter surprise found … the handle of his wand.

One shock was followed by another.

He pulled it out in silent disbelief, staring at it numbly. For a moment his neurons simply weren't connecting. He couldn't understand it. It seemed so illogical that Voldemort - his archenemy - would give him his wand back, until he remembered the words the Dark Lord whispered him before kicking him out.

"_So you really want to fight him … very well then … you shall get that chance."_

His hand sagged a little.

"He really meant that," he said incredulously. "He willingly gave me a chance to fight … but … maybe I shouldn't be so surprised."

Voldemort preferred duels, he recalled. It made a sense. Without a wand it wouldn't be a fight, it would be an execution.

His heart started to beat faster. He wasn't going to waste that chance. As he stared at the wooden stick, a plan already began to form in his head. He'll go back to the Grimmauld Place, rouse the members of the Order from the lethargy and take the Ministry by storm. It's more than time for the wizarding world to learn the truth about the Leader. Negura will soon find out that he shouldn't have even dare to threaten those who were closest to his heart.

xxxxx

_London, the Ministry of Magic_

_26th December 2000, 00:35 _

"Hey! Hey! Ferret! What's the rush?"

"Be quiet, Ron!" Hermione hissed at her boyfriend who kept on insulting the silent young man ahead of them.

"Hermione, don't you see he's leading us the wrong way? I see no reason to trust him!"

"I don't think he's leading us the wrong way," she protested quietly.

"Okay," he said and stopped. "What's wrong with you? What's up with Percy? What's going on?"

"Weasley's still the same idiot, am I right mudblood?" Draco scoffed pointedly.

"You stinky little skunk! Apologize to her right now!" Ron roared, pulling out his wand, while Draco did the same.

"RON! Stop it!" Hermione cried, but her boyfriend ignored her.

"I knew that the Leader was lying. You're certainly not a _poor_, _shy_ and _traumatized_ boy!"

"You want a fight, Weasley? With me?" Draco sneered at him. "I was trained by the Dark Lord himself. You think you stand a chance?"

"You're still in You-Know-Who's service, right? You just tricked that Leader guy, pretending your _insecurity_ and _innocence_. You bastard! But I'll show you...!"

Ron stopped in the middle of his rant, because something unexpected happened. Draco laughed all of a sudden, coldly, emptily. There was no mirth in that sound.

"Why don't you tell him the truth, Granger? You know what's going on, I can see it in your dirty face. Tell him that we're all dead. He should know it too."

Hermione stood there, silent, her lower lip shaking slightly.

"What the hell is this?" Ron asked incredulously only to be interrupted by Draco's dead voice.

"My life is over, Weasley. I'm finished … merely waiting to have my blood sucked from my veins." He took one short step closer. "Welcome to a club of condemned existences! Because if I'm correct, he's after all of us at the moment."

Ron's eyes grew wide.

"You-Know-Who?" he stuttered fearfully.

"The Leader," Hermione whispered, not taking her eyes off Draco. "The vampire."

Ron turned to her, wand pointed uselessly at the ground, his mouth agape.

"No, he's not! He can't be! He's practically ruling the wizarding world – that would … we could never... Why … where did you get this idea?"

She finally tore her sight off the ex-Death Eater and looked up at him.

"He lusted my blood, Ron. I saw it in his eyes."

"But he's a wizard! He's using a wand! He's been seen outside many times during the day. Vampires can't do this!"

"He can," Draco said sternly, looking at the dark, empty corridor ahead and then at the ground. "He shouldn't be able to do that, but _he can_."

He paused, licking his lips nervously.

"What happened to my father wasn't an accident. It didn't happen in Azkaban. I saw it. It was … it was..."

"Him," Hermione breathed out. He gave just one brief, jerky nod. His eyes remained focused on the dirt on his left shoe.

"He killed … he … seriously … did that?" Ron's eyes jumped from Hermione to Draco and back. The dead silence confirmed his greatest worries.

"Bloody hell … bloody hell...!" he muttered quickly, colour disappearing from his face. He was looking around fearfully, losing all his confidence.

"Draco," Hermione whispered. "Come with us. We can offer you protection."

"Hermione?" Ron breathed out in surprise, but she was still looking at the blonde. Malfoy only snorted.

"As if I would ever need to be protected by the filthy Order – a silly group of blood traitors and mudbloods. Besides, he's very powerful. He's got no mercy. He's planning to kill the Dark Lord and I think that if anyone has a chance then it's him, not that Saint Potter," he said with disgust. "Though, he's not so saint anymore, is he?"

Ron growled and raised the wand again while Draco did the same, but Hermione stopped them once again with a calm, yet urgent voice.

"Do _you both_ want to die here?-!"

They didn't respond for a moment.

"We have to find Harry and stop this slaughter, Ron!" she spoke to her boyfriend before turning to his opponent. "We need your help Draco – and you need ours. So, what are you going to do about it?"

After what seemed to be endless seconds, Draco lowered his wand a little. Hermione breathed out all the air she was holding in her lungs and grasped Ron's elbow.

"Let's Apparate," she whispered and reached out for Draco's sleeve. "We have to hurry."

"Don't touch me mudblood..."

"Shut up! … Hermione … we can't just show him..."

"We won't show him anything!" she cut him off and squeezed his palm.

"He won't just let us go," was the last sentence the younger Malfoy uttered before disappearing in a swirl of colours.

He couldn't be closer the truth. None of them could see a small bat, which drove its little claws into Draco's cloak a few seconds before Apparation. None of them could see the consequences...

xxxxx

_London, Grimmauld Place 12_

_26th December 2000, 02:40 _

Harry had probably never run so fast in his life as he ran tonight. He had to keep a safe distance between the place of Apparation and their secret base in case someone was tracking him. Now he was trying to overcome it in record time. His lungs burned and his glasses were falling from his face, but he didn't give a damn. Finally he turned around the last corner and the vague shape of the building he was looking for slowly began to emerge from the darkness.

He didn't even know how he got inside, he only heard the front door close behind him loudly as he stumbled into the dark hall, which was barely lit by a set of old fashioned gas lamps. His eyes were focused on the far end of the hallway, on the door behind which he expected to meet the rest of the Order at last. The several meters that separated him from his destination seemed endless – and then, finally, he seized the doorknob, turned it and dashed inside.

There were only two persons seated at the long, kitchen table. One of them was Ron, which shocked him, because Ron was supposed to be imprisoned at the Ministry. But he apparently wasn't as he was sitting on a chair before him, glaring at the person by his side with a clear dislike. Harry glanced towards the latter and his chin dropped by a full inch. A very familiar, pale, pointed face turned to him, the grey, mocking eyes met his own. Before his brain could process anything more a loud shriek numbed his hearing.

"HARRY! Ron, Harry's back! Harry's here!"

Hermione was by him within a second and hugged him quickly before letting go, regarding him fearfully.

"Harry? What happened to you? You're not hurt, are you?" she asked quickly, almost inarticulately.

"I – uh...," he muttered as he noticed that Ron rose from a table, looking at him strangely.

Ron was here. Hermione was here too. He also noticed Angelina and Mr. Weasley by the corner of the eye, but the rest of the Order was missing. And there was also Draco Malfoy gazing at him over the kitchen table as if his presence here was a normal occurrence.

This wasn't something he was expecting to see. Naturally, it left him speechless.

"I … what the … what the hell is _Malfoy_ doing here?" he ultimately stuttered out.

"We … err … we brought him here from the Ministry. His father was murdered and he was also in a mortal peril. We offered him protection in exchange for the information about … you. Because we've heard that you've been captured by..."

Hermione didn't finish, because Ron suddenly interrupted her.

"Where have you been, Harry?" he asked and his voice was surprisingly cold.

Harry instantly couldn't get rid of the idea that Ron suspected something. And if he was really suspecting something, was he supposed to lie or not? Harry didn't want to deceive his best friend, but could he dare to say the truth? His throat froze.

"It's quite a simple question, Harry. Can you answer me?"

"I … I had to save Sheena's life," he said slowly. "I brought her to … _a secure place_."

"Where?" Ron said, coming closer to him, his expression unreadable.

"I don't know where it is."

Harry could congratulate himself. He still didn't have to say falsehood.

"You don't know? Well, that's interesting, because _we do know it_, Harry. You were in You-Know-Who's hideout, weren't you?"

Ron's usually kind and funny face stiffened and twisted in revulsion.

"Weren't you?" he repeated more loudly.

Harry gulped idly. He had no idea how Ron found it out. His eyes glanced over his friends' faces, all of them staring at him, tense and horrified. Was this Voldemort's plan after all? Did he lie to him about Ron and Hermione's capture? Did he send Draco Malfoy to tell the Order about his traitorous deeds? Maybe he hoped that they would kill him instead of him. Harry's stomach twisted in pain. He felt betrayed and he didn't know why.

Why did he trust his enemy, why did he act like a fool?

He took a deep breath through his nose.

He knew he should lie now and say that it wasn't truth, but he couldn't. He always told his friends everything and if he was to lose their trust forever then he'd rather die right here than to be banished and alone.

"It's true," he whispered. "I asked him to save her and I offered for him to keep her in return."

"NO WAY!" Ron roared and grasped his collar. Harry saw the fist coming, but he didn't avoid it. The smite terribly hurt. Harry didn't know that Ron had such strength. A second after that another blow came from the other side. Harry's back collided with the wall, his legs could no longer keep him upright.

"RON! RON! Stop beating him!"

Another strike made Harry see stars behind his closed eyelids.

"Ron! Stop it right now! Listen to Hermione!" said much deeper, authoritative voice.

Then Hermione pleaded again. Harry couldn't see, he just sat on the ground holding his bleeding lips and chin and also his aching ribcage, listening to their voices.

"Ron please, please, why don't you see the reason?"

"WHAT REASON? HE BETRAYED US!" Ron's deep voice bellowed.

"No, Ron, no! He was just desperate, searching for a help for his friend, why don't you understand it?-!"

"He went to You-Know-Who, Hermione! To the murderer of hundreds! How can you act like nothing happened?-! I'm telling you he betrayed us!"

Hermione also had a breaking point, Harry recalled the clash they had after Ron had left them and returned to them three years ago.

"THEN WHY ISN'T YOU-KNOW-WHO HERE RIGHT NOW, KILLING US ALL IF HARRY – AS YOU SAY – SOLD US TO HIS NONEXISTENT MERCY?-! WHERE IS THAT MURDERER OF HUNDREDS WHEN WE HAVE BEEN BETRAYED?"

She screamed it so loudly that it made Harry cringe. Unsurprisingly, it was enough to make Ron hush up.

"Harry would never do anything to hurt us! If you're his best friend then you would know it! You wouldn't doubt him."

She added bitterly, before kneeling back beside Harry. He instantly felt her pleasantly cool hands on his hurt face. He opened his swollen eyes, gazing at her teary expression.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, before spitting blood from his bitten tongue. Voldemort was right once again. It really was his most favourite phrase.

"Fine, fine!" Ron snarled as his father held him back. "I'm the bad one here! But why won't he tell us what he was discussing with that freak for those hours when he was missing?"

Hermione quickly used several spells which diminished the pain greatly. He could see once again and the lumps on his face deflated.

"Negura," Harry whispered, looking up at Ron. He heard the chair move as Malfoy probably jumped to his feet. Hopefully, Angelina was still watching him. "We were discussing Dragomir Lucian Negura, aka the Leader. We talked about that vampire who used to be his Death Eater once. I've … I've finally learned the truth."

**_R&R_**


	34. Confrontation, partII

**Author's note:** Many many thanks to my dear beta** TheSecretUchiha **for correcting yet another chapter! Also, many thanks to all of you who will decide to click on that Submit button at the end of this page and send me a review! :D

xxxxx

**Confrontation, part II**

xxxxx

_London, Grimmauld Place 12_

_26__th__December 2000, 03:06_

"Harry! Have you lost your mind? How could you ask _You-Know-Who_ for a help … it's a miracle you haven't been killed!"

Harry had probably never seen Arthur so upset. He apparently didn't find the information about the Minister's highest advisor as important as the fact that he had spent some time alone with the Dark Lord. He watched him shake his head and stride back and forth and finally towards him, kneeling down beside Hermione, who was still healing his injuries and performing some quick check up spells.

"If I didn't do that, Sheena would die...," he said quietly, looking away from Mr. Weasley's strict face.

"Harry!" Hermione suddenly exclaimed and her soft brown eyes grew wide in horror. "You've been tortured!"

Oh, right. Of course she was going to find it out.

"Yeah, but I...," he said before she stopped him again.

"Why haven't you told us?" she inquired, urgency and desperation seeping from her voice.

"Well, because..."

"Did You-Know-Who do this to you? Oh, what a stupid question – of course it was him. What did he want to know? What did you tell him, Harry?" Mr. Weasley butted in.

"Look, I didn't..."

"Is he coming here? Is the Order in danger?"

"NO!" Harry finally shouted out, halting the flow of questions at once.

"I didn't tell him anything! He didn't even ask any questions! He tortured me because he caught me snooping in his Pensieve!"

If Harry wasn't so stressed out, he might find it funny how Hermione and Arthur simultaneously blinked and sat back on their heels.

"You did ... what?" Hermione whispered quietly.

Harry glanced aside to avoid her stare, catching Angelina's disbelieving expression and Ron's pallid face briefly. His best friend appeared to be terrified and Harry could only hope that he was frightened for him. Maybe Ron wanted to reconcile. Harry wanted to apologize too, though he had no idea how to do that. So he looked back at Hermione who still regarded him incredulously. It made him feel pretty silly.

"Don't look at me like that," he said. "I know it was a stupid thing to do."

"Stupid? STUPID? Harry, it was a _suicidal_ thing to do, are you aware of THAT?"

"Harry … is there any reason why he let you live?" Arthur asked quietly.

"He certainly must have had one," Harry shrugged his shoulders. "I personally think that he just didn't want to do it himself – just in case that something went wrong again. He rather sent me back, hoping that either you or Negura will kill me for him. It's the only explanation which makes any sense."

When he said it aloud, he realized that it was likely to be a truth. It was something Voldemort would do. He wanted him dead after all. He repeated this over and over.

Oddly, Harry's heart ached with the thought of Voldemort's cruel, unchanging hatred. The feelings of inexplicable sadness grew stronger and made him despise himself for being so sensitive. How could Dumbledore ever consider this to be his greatest strength? It was only making him vulnerable.

Hermione spoke again, pulling him out of his muse.

"We are not going to hurt you or … k... kill you Harry, how could you even think of something so … horrible?" she whispered, aghast.

"It's not my idea, it's _his_," he replied blankly. "He wouldn't hesitate a second to kill someone he considers a traitor. He thinks that the same applies to you as well."

"But you didn't betray us," Arthur said sternly, almost questioningly.

"I would never betray you," Harry whispered. "You know that I'd rather die." His eyes met Ron's briefly, but only for a second before looking away.

Mr. Weasley was still shaking his head, slowly overcoming his flurry.

"I still don't understand it, Harry. How could it even occur to you to contact _him?-!_ We've got dozens of capable healers at St. Mungo's. They could easily save that snake too. I can't believe you really went … by Merlin's beard, Hermione's right, it was suicidal!"

Harry found it rather depressing to hear them talk about it over and over again. Therefore, he asked something which would hopefully divert Mr. Weasley's attention.

"Where's the rest of the Order?"

Said diversion worked surprisingly well. Arthur stopped muttering for himself and looked at him.

"Probably still searching for you. They should be back any time soon. We have to deal with that situation in the Ministry as quickly as possible."

"Yeah, that's right, because we've got a huge problem there," Harry nodded and finally found strength to rise up from the floor.

"You shouldn't get up, Harry," Hermione scolded him, but he just shook his head.

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not...!"

"Listen, this is more important," he said. "The memory which I saw in Riddle's Pensieve changes everything. That guy who works for Umbridge, the Leader or whatever he calls himself is a _vampire_! He's the one who's responsible for all those attacks."

To Harry's great surprise Hermione looked at him and nodded.

"Yes, we know, Harry."

Her soft, calm statement made his chin drop.

"H … how can you possibly know this?"

Draco, who was until that moment silent, snorted and heavily leaned against the backrest.

"Who do you think murdered my father, Potter?"

His sneer cost Harry all his willpower not to hurl something at him. How could he say something like that with such a calm face? Could he be lying about that?

"Lucius Malfoy … is dead?" he said quietly, irritated and disbelieving all at once.

"Weren't you listening to that mudblood when she told you that?-!" Draco blustered out and jumped from the chair. That was the reaction Harry was waiting for. Three wands immediately shot up, pointed directly into the Death Eater's furious face.

"Sit down, Malfoy. And apologize!" Ron barked.

"Dream on, Weasley," the young Malfoy sneered, but slowly sagged down.

"Okay," Harry said and raised his hands. "If I understand this correctly, you went to the Ministry tonight and talked with the Leader. And he told you that it was he who killed the older Malfoy and then he just let you go."

It sounded pretty absurd to Harry's ears.

"We went to the Ministry, that's true," Hermione replied. "We also talked to _him _as we wanted to know where we can find you. It was he who told us that you were … well, you know where..."

Ron snorted and crossed his arms over his chest. Harry just glanced at him and turned back to Hermione.

"And then Lucius Malfoy came into the Leader's office..."

Harry stopped her in the middle of a sentence.

"But I thought he was dead!"

"Well, yes he _was_ dead … or _undead,_ more specifically," Hermione added and rubbed her neck distractedly. "We didn't know the truth about him then; at least not until he showed us his teeth."

Ron growled under his breath. "He looked at me as if I were just a snack on legs!"

"And then the Leader told you the truth about what happened?" Harry inquired, looking from Ron to Hermione and back. "That he was behind this?"

"Of course not. He told us that he participated in some negotiations between the Ministry and vampires," Hermione shook her head. "I could tell he lied. Later, Draco confirmed my suspicion. Honestly, I don't even know how we pulled through without getting hurt - or something worse."

Harry sighed in relief.

"And you say that I'm lucky. Not half as much as you are when you managed to escape so easily!"

"Yeah, but we don't know anything about Percy!" Ron retorted, his voice hard. "He had decided to stay with them! Hermione thinks that he was cursed. She said that it would be unavailing to try to convince him to go with us and dangerous to force him. But he is there all alone - among _them_!"

Harry idly gulped.

"I didn't know that," he whispered.

"No, you didn't, right?"

Ron was once again becoming rather blunt.

"If you didn't leave us tonight _again,_ none of that would happen."

"RONALD!" Hermione cried out.

Harry felt as if Ron slapped again. At that moment Mr. Weasley joined the discussion with his firm voice and squeezed Harry's shoulder to show support.

"You surely know, my son, that tonight's events are NOT Harry's fault," he said. Harry, however, took a deep breath and shook his head.

"No, Mr. Weasley. Ron's right. I shouldn't have left."

"Harry, stop blaming yourself for everything. Every one of us is fully responsible for our actions. And you Ron – stop trying to find someone to hold a grudge against!"

When Ron didn't say anything, Arthur turned back to Harry.

"I think we should stop talking about it for now," he said quietly.

Harry kept staring at the ground. Before the growing uneasiness could poison the atmosphere even more than it already was, Harry decided to talk to Draco and ask him how he had managed to stay alive in the Ministry in Negura's presence for so long. Maybe he would be able to find a way to help Percy as he couldn't do anything else for him at the moment. He looked at the young Death Eater who still sat on the same spot, silent, pale, unmoving and … unguarded.

"Where's Angelina?" Harry blurted out.

Everyone's attention immediately turned to Draco, who remained strangely unresponsive. His grey, widely opened eyes stared into a dark hallway before him, his pale lips trembling as he breathed fast in short gasps.

"Maybe … maybe she just needed to go to the bathroom," Hermione suggested hesitantly.

"Why wouldn't she say a word?" Arthur asked, slowly pulling out his wand again. "Why would she leave Malfoy without direct supervision?"

Mr. Weasley's insistent questions together with a heavy realization of Angelina's unexplainable absence changed the mood drastically. The air was suddenly filled with trepidation and the room became very quiet. Maybe it was just Harry's imagination, but it also looked darker than before. He took a deep breath and squeezed the wand in his slightly sweaty palm. Then he approached his fair-haired enemy.

"Where did she go, Malfoy?" he asked sternly, keeping control over his voice. "You were the last one who saw her, right? Tell me, _where did she go_?_-_!"

Draco's pale lips opened and closed, his eyes not leaving the long, dark hallway for a second. Harry felt strong uneasiness growing inside him. He turned his head to follow Malfoy's stare, but he didn't see anything through the thick darkness there.

When did the gas lamps burn out?

Staring into that dark space was like looking into an abyss – and the abyss staring back.

Suddenly a freezing tingling ran along Harry's spine. The soft light coming from the chandelier above him weakened at a sudden waft of cold air running through the house. Something moved in a long shadow behind the door frame … but his eyes could be deluding him...Harry was nearly overpowered by an urgent desire to close the door and never open it again. He fought hard with that uncontrollable, primitive fear. One glance at his friends told him that they were just as frightened as he was.

"Who's there?" he finally found the courage to ask.

"Angelina?" he called, taking a short step towards the dark hallway. "Is that you?"

"Harry, no...," Hermione breathed out, but Harry didn't looked at her, his eyes were glued to the opened door before him.

Then Draco suddenly stuttered out.

"We're all dead … we're all dead … he's here, I know he's HERE!"

"Shut up Malfoy!" Harry shouted back, raising his wand.

"Angelina if that is you, speak to me right now!"

The deathly silence was the only answer. It was giving him goose bumps.

"Just say something...," he whispered. By the corner of his eye he noticed that Mr. Weasley slowly came to take his place by his right side. He needed that encouragement to take another step towards the door. His heart hammered in his chest; the sound of it was so loud that he had problems hearing anything over that rhythmic beating. He licked drops of sweat from his upper lip.

"Angelina...," he breathed out.

Finally the shadow moved again, approaching them. Harry felt his stomach jump up and down, giving him nausea. It had to be some form of subconscious warning telling him that he was in danger. As if he didn't know.

He kept very still, trying to recognize the approaching figure first. As soon as he identified his dark skinned friend, he began to realize that something was very wrong with her. There was – Harry's breath halted on the way out of his lungs – blood all over her throat and her scared eyes blindly gazed at some unspecified spot in space.

She took another step closer, slowly revealing the creature that caused her injury. A tall, sickly pale vampire stood behind her, holding her bleeding neck, smirking coldly at them.

The recognition multiplied Harry's shock and horror a hundred times.

"Oh God!" Hermione cried out while Ron loudly cursed.

Harry didn't listen to them. His eyes remained transfixed to that dark clad person who was holding Angelina's throat.

"Poor girl, she couldn't answer you," said a deep, melodic voice and a pair of evil navy-blue eyes met Harry's green ones. "I had to seal her lips so she wouldn't cry."

"Negura…," Harry hissed virulently, revulsion and fear threatening to win over his self-control. Negura was in his house, attacking his friends – nothing could possibly be worse than that. Nothing, probably not even Voldemort with a gang of his Death Eaters as an escort. He felt the acid coming up from his stomach into his mouth. Everything turned red as rage joined his fear and began to take over his thinking.

"I realize how very impolite it was to act the way I did, but I grew tired of waiting in a corner..."

The Leader's cruel lips rose to form a mockery of a smile.

A mad fury shook Harry's whole being.

"LET GO OF HER OR I'M GONNA KILL YOU!" he finally roared, gripping his wand. If only Angelina didn't stand in the way of his curse! He couldn't find an angle where she wouldn't be hit as well.

"You're so entertaining, Harry," Negura chuckled and licked small droplets of blood from his lips and fingertips.

"One would have thought that Voldemort told you that you can't do that."

Harry gritted his teeth, the wand in his hand visibly shaking.

"Your negligible skills cannot cause me any harm."

His cold eyes stabbed Mr. Weasley for a second. "And the same goes for your friends as well."

Though Harry was paying full attention to the vampire in front of him, he also noticed that Arthur very slowly moved sideways. Whatever plan he had, Harry was going to support him by distracting Negura as much as possible.

"How could you get inside?" he growled, his voice raspy. "This place is protected by Fidelius Charm!"

Negura's perfect lips revealed more of his alarmingly white teeth.

"Oh, Harry. This only shows how little your wizarding world knows about us. According to your opinion we represent the worst kind of night creatures. We keep the Aurors busy in times when no dark lord is trying to take over the world. Your aim is to destroy us; that's all you care about, am I right? You're not interested in the fact that we might also have some powers and secrets. This is a typical example of human finitude – I'm so used to seeing it all the time. "

Harry pressed his lips together, resisting the urge to look at Arthur. He couldn't give away his tactic. He also wished to know what Ron and Hermione were doing, but he couldn't look behind himself now, so he unblinkingly held that freak's gaze.

"Fidelus Charm is in fact a soul magic," Negura continued. "The secret is transferred from the soul of the Secret-Keeper to another person's soul. Vampires do not have souls, Harry. We are above this low form of magic. We can enter whatever habitation we want – we just need an invitation from whomever is inside."

"I don't recall anyone inviting you here," Harry said coldly, though panic was causing his chest to constrict.

Negura laughed softly, melodically and turned to look at young Malfoy, who was nearly as pale as the vampire.

"And that's where you're wrong, my dear boy. It was my precious godson who invited me here, right Draco?"

After a moment of horrified silence Harry growled in fury. But deep inside, the knot in his stomach tightened.

"Godson!" he spat and glanced at Ron's and Hermione's ashen faces and then back at Draco. So that was what protected him from a certain death...

"Malfoy," he whispered. "I swear this is the last straw..."

"No need to be mad at him, Harry," the Leader whispered, the grin slowly fading from his lips. "He didn't know about my plan. I forgot to mention that I was coming along. Obviously, taking me inside without him knowing about it is still an acceptable form of invitation."

Harry whirled back, droplets of sweat falling from his chin at the sudden move.

"But WHY? What do you want from us?-!"

Negura pressed the tip of his tongue to his upper lip for a moment and then he spoke.

"Aside the obvious, which is your delicious blood, there is indeed something else I require. I was robbed of something precious a few days ago. I had been desperately searching for the thief who stole it and here I found her at last."

His cold eyes left Harry and focused on his muggle born friend. Harry heard her gasp under the intensity of his stare and his throat painfully narrowed.

"Where is the last page from Voldemort's old diary, Hermione?" Negura whispered. "It's mine and I _want_ it back."

"LEAVE HER OUT OF THIS, YOU MONSTER!" Ron screamed, pushing his girlfriend behind himself to give her more protection.

Negura's smirk grew colder and colder, just like Angelina's body in his arms. He sucked in her smell and licked his lip slowly.

"Well, well. I'm getting tired of playing these games with you. You know too much. That's why all of you have to die – except for you Draco." His eyes lashed at the young man, who was trying to hide in the furthest corner of the room. "You'll be coming back with me and we will talk about _this_."

Harry's panic-stricken heart began to malfunction from the terror Negura's words awakened in him. What to do now?-! Escape was the only chance they had, he realized. Still it was very unlikely that all of them would make it. Someone had to hold Negura back for those few necessary seconds they needed to jump out of window and Apparate away. He made a quick decision.

He was going to do that.

However, Arthur didn't seem to share his thoughts. Harry bit his lip hardly, wondering how he was supposed to stop him without warning the vampire.

The Leader's clasp on Angelina's throat unexpectedly slackened and her body slowly slumped to the ground. He flexed his long fingers, watching them curiously for a moment before speaking with that soft, deep voice again.

"Ron Weasley. Tell your dear father not to do what he intends to, otherwise I will be forced to deal with him first."

Harry couldn't stand it anymore. Of course he noticed that Arthur was planning to stab Negura's heart with a wooden stake which he was hiding behind his back. Harry cursed himself for missing a chance to tell him that it wasn't going to work. He witnessed Voldemort performing similar onslaught on him and yet Negura was still here, unharmed and powerful as ever.

There was probably only one solution giving Mr. Weasley a chance. He'll have to attack Negura at the same moment as Arthur. Not even a vampire should be able to deflect two assaults at once.

His plan was however brought to an abrupt end the moment the Leader decided to lunge at Mr. Weasley first. The movement was so fast that Harry had serious trouble following it. He only saw Arthur's body fly across the room and collide with the opposite wall noisily. Ron screamed something unintelligible, sending a curse in Negura's direction, which was easily fended off, breaking a hole in the wall. Hermione cried out too and Harry attacked.

"Sectum Sempr...!"

Cold fingers squeezed his larynx, cutting off his source of oxygen and raising him from the floor. His legs flailed aimlessly in the air, his mouth opened widely as he unsuccessfully tried to breathe.

"Too slow."

With all pleasantry gone, Negura's voice was just as cruel as Voldemort's. Harry was forcefully thrown against the table, which collapsed under the impact. He hit his head hard; enough to lose consciousness for several seconds. When he came back, a blinding pain seized his thorax. He coughed up blood from his bitten tongue and felt for his broken ribs. He suppressed the soreness with his mighty willpower and forced himself to get up. The sight before him was truly horrific. When Voldemort murdered, he always did it without a single drop of blood being spilled, as if he despised the sight of it. Negura on the other hand apparently loved the slaughter. He didn't kill immediately; he made them all bleed first.

"RON!" Harry yelled as he saw his friend twist in pain on the floor, trying to get up and failing. He wanted to help Hermione, who was pressed against wall and her clothes were torn away from her as the monster searched for what she took from him.

What a horrible price was paid for a little piece of meaningless paper.

"Hermione...," Ron whispered and his and Harry's eyes met for a second. Harry dimly realized that his friend was badly hurt, on brink of losing consciousness, yet his face still held so many emotions, pleading him wordlessly.

_Save her._

Something snapped in Harry's head. He bent down, taking a long sharp splinter from the broken table. Then his eyes slowly returned to Negura, who laughed victoriously as he found the creased letter he was looking for in Hermione's jeans.

"Finally...," he whispered, leaning down to her, baring his long white teeth, smelling her soft skin.

Hermione's frightened scream created an impulse which made Harry move. Gripping the splinter hard enough to hurt himself, he overcame the distance between them in three long leaps and just before Negura's teeth could bite into Hermione's bare neck, he plunged the chip of wood into the monster's heart.

The sound of the tearing flesh was awful. Much worse than Harry imagined it would be. It made him recall the days when he had wondered how many people he killed during the Second War. He knew that there were some, especially after that tremendous stampede from Privet Drive, but he had never been forced to face it the way he was now.

He used to ponder about whether he was even capable of killing someone. It was understandable that he needed to give it some though when the Prophecy indicated that he'd either become a murderer or a victim.

Now he knew the answer. He _knew it_ as he forced the splinter deeper into Negura's chest.

The Leader screamed in a wild rage, turning to him, his eyes blazing, his fangs bared and glistering.

"Leave my … friends … alone!" Harry forced out of his painfully constricted throat. As a response a wand suddenly appeared in the Dragomir's palm and before Harry knew it, he was slammed against the floor again. The pain in his chest multiplied, steadily becoming more and more insufferable. But it was a huge satisfaction to see Negura on his knees, growling and trying to reach for the offending object and pull it out of his chest.

Harry coughed again, a seizure of agony running through him, making his fingers curl and legs jerk. His injury hurt, almost as badly as the Cruciatus curse. He forced himself to look at Hermione, who seemed to be the only one relatively unharmed. She sat on the floor, her back propped against the wall and her head lolling over her chest. She probably fainted. Ron was also unmoving and Harry desperately hoped that he was still breathing. He didn't know how Arthur or Angelina were but he feared the worst. And he couldn't help anyone of them - he couldn't even stand up by himself. Maybe Draco could do something … but where the hell was that little cowardly Death Eater?

"My, my … what an unexpected predicament you're in, my Leader."

Harry's head spun towards the door again. His hopes to see someone from the Order died that instant. Everything, absolutely everything, was hopeless now, because another vampire stood at the entrance.

Lucius Malfoy smirked slyly and adjusted his tight collar.

"May I offer you my assistance, Dragomir?" he asked mockingly, threading his hand through his long, blond hair.

Ferocious growl coming from Negura's mouth was the only answer he received. But he understood it and smirked again.

"But of course, My Leader." He stepped closer to Negura, grasped the splinter and ripped it out of the other vampire's chest. Dragomir roared in pain, his body cracked in spasms before falling heavily on the floor. And then, after what seemed to be an endless minute of heavy silence he spoke again.

"Raise me up."

"Certainly," Lucius leered. "May I ask an impertinent question, My Leader? Was it Potter who caused this to you? I would bet my new coat that it was him."

Negura, who was once again on his feet, smoothed his robes and replied coldly.

"You're correct, Lucius. It was a very impertinent question to ask and it was indeed Harry Potter who dared to attack me so foolishly."

"So, are you going to kill him?" the older Malfoy asked with an unconcealed concern.

"Of course I am," Negura hissed back, his eyes narrowing. "But tell me first how did you get inside. I didn't invite the others yet."

"Oh, that was very simple. When I was just a boy, my family often visited Mrs. Black's … _house_. I wasn't sure whether it was going work, especially since she's been dead for some time, but it seems that her ghost still resides in these walls. I was allowed to enter without any problems. I admit that I'm really starting to enjoy being a vampire."

Negura only snorted at that. "I told you so, remember?"

"Vaguely."

"Good, now step out of my way."

Harry, who was trying to recover as much as possible during their conversation, realized that he was out of time. Negura was probably going to kill him now. What an absurd development. He always thought that Voldemort would be the one to murder him in the end.

"Certainly, My Leader. I only wonder whether I may get a reward for helping you."

"Sure, Lucius. Take whomever you want, but Potter's mine."

Harry closed his eyes, recalling Voldemort's soft, hissing voice. _'Watch your neck, boy.'_ He forced back a chuckle. Riddle was going to be disappointed that he failed him. Thinking of it, Voldemort would be the only person powerful enough to stop Negura and Malfoy now. However, the base of the Order was greatly protected, he wouldn't be able to find this place, even in a hundred years, not to mention he had to be looking for it first. Also, Harry was deeply bothered by his sudden need to solve all of his problems with his archenemy's helping hand. His reputation was in the same danger as he was, he realized.

"I want my son," Lucius whispered into the silence.

Harry's eyes flew open in surprise. He had completely forgotten what Negura and Lucius were discussing. Now he even turned his head to look at the vampires.

Negura snorted, his grimace said everything Harry needed to know.

"Not an option," he hissed.

"But..."

"No, you would kill him and that's unacceptable at the moment."

"I'll be careful..."

"I said no!"

"My Leader, I swear..."

"SILENCE!"

Negura's nostrils widened as he took in a short breath. His face was a display of exasperation.

"I admit that Draco must be punished. I won't hold you back Lucius, but if you kill him _I swear_ that I'm going to rip off your head. If you're willing to take the risk, just go ahead and STOP BOTHERING ME!"

Lucius bowed slightly, atrocious grin appearing on his face.

"Yes, My Leader."

A second later Harry heard the shocked, disbelieving cry of poor Draco Malfoy in the distance. He certainly heard their dialogue too. Harry, however, had much more serious problems to deal with, because Negura once again gave him his full attention. The fear of dying and becoming a vampire was much worse than any pain he felt. He imagined himself attacking his helpless friends and he almost vomited. He needed to stop Negura somehow.

"Not so brave now, Harry. Are you?" Dragomir smirked, noticing his fright. Harry tried to hide his fear as he knew that terror turned vampires wild. The problem was that blood was an even greater allurement and as he was presently bleeding in several places of his body, proper self-control was hardly going to save him.

But he had to try something.

Negura meanwhile straddled him, licking his lips eagerly.

"You're a dark lord hunter, right?" Harry asked quickly. "Then why are you killing people who live for the same purpose?"

Dragomir halted for a moment and rubbed his chin.

"My existence must remain secret, Harry," he said almost apologetically. "That's how I made it through the centuries. That's how I successfully brought down so many powerful dark lords in the past."

Harry looked away from him, gritting his teeth. The fact that Voldemort knew the truth about him for about forty years didn't seem to matter. Negura was just another hypocrite.

The vampire above him smiled coldly as if he heard his thoughts.

"Do you know the old saying about omelets?"

Harry looked up, surprised. _Saying about what? _

"That you cannot make them without breaking eggs?" Negura clarified and leaned down, regarding his victim closely.

"A great truth is hidden in these words. You always have to sacrifice something in order to gain something else."

"It doesn't have to be that way," Harry whispered.

"Of course it does. You have to die; it's a necessary sacrifice to serve my purpose. Though when we are discussing it, I'm surprised that the Dark Lord didn't warn you before. I mean about trying to discover my secrets. Didn't he tell you that everyone who learns the truth about me is condemned to die?"

Harry felt another strong shiver running down his spine. Voldemort indeed told him that, back at Crowborough. Harry had successfully managed to forget it.

"Hmm... What a pity - for you and your friends. I would have though he would take much better care of you, his personal _whore_. Nah, sooner or later you're going to die anyway..."

Harry turned purple as another fit of anger overpowered him.

"I'M NOT...!"

Negura closed the remaining distance and pressed his cold nose against Harry's hot cheek.

"You wanted to know the real reason he let you live, didn't you?" he whispered mockingly, while somewhere close Draco desperately screamed, sending curses at his father.

"That's all what he wants from you. And you can bet I know his quirks good enough to be sure about that. No need to worry, though. Soon you'll be working for me – if I decide to keep you, of course."

Draco screamed again, begging his father to stop whatever he was doing. Despite his own dreadful situation, Harry felt really sorry for him. Being hunted by a monster that looked just like his dad was something not even Draco deserved.

Harry's mind was racing now. He briefly wondered what happened to his wand. He had lost it after he hit his head against the table. If he tried to summon it like Voldemort...

"Oh yes, I will keep you," Negura spoke softly again, breaking into his muse. "It'll make him mad that the famous Harry Potter is immortal and working for me."

A cold hand seized his chin, turning his head aside, revealing his neck.

"Perfect," he whispered and his cold lips touched Harry's face.

The feeling of his upcoming doom made any thinking incredibly difficult. Now he understood why Hermione passed out after the attack; he felt that he wouldn't be able to remain conscious much longer as well. With all his might he tried to focus on a summoning charm, but his nauseous stomach was making it nearly impossible. The lips touched his throat now. Negura, the sick beast, was playing with him.

He opened his eyes and noticed that Draco and Lucius were close beside them, in the same degrading position. He noticed how Draco's face was drenched with tears. The poor blonde had to lose the fight or give it up and the older Malfoy was clearly enjoying that, licking his son's throat in a disgusting manner. Harry was sick of watching it, so he looked down and caught a glimpse of Draco's Dark Mark on his exposed left forearm. A sudden idea appeared in his feverish mind. The pointy canines grazed his vulnerable neck, yet he gathered all strength and called out the words which could hopefully save them for a little longer...

"DRACO! DO IT! TOUCH IT!"

At a sound of his name being called, Draco opened his teary eyes and their stares met. Then he slowly looked down at his arm, gazing at the mark, his face unreadable. It was too late, Harry suddenly realized and looked away – the hand which he used to hold Negura back was pushed away and the vampire pressed his teeth into his flesh and … screamed in pain.

And Lucius too.

Draco only whimpered.

The two vampires grasped their forearms, squeezing them brutally. Harry, beside being fascinated by his continuing existence, noticed that Negura held his own arm even tighter then the remaining two Death Eaters. His cold, merciless eyes bored into the sobbing young man on the floor.

"Draco, you naughty little boy, this is _my_ party!" Negura hissed maliciously and slowly let go of his left hand.

"Are you listening to Potter's orders now? Do you want Voldemort to come here and save you from your papa?"

Lucius smirked, watching how Negura slowly approached his godson.

"Do you think that he would let you live? How stupid you are, boy. Lucky that Voldemort can't find this place or else you would pay the biggest price possible for your foolishness."

He knelt beside him, wiping tears from his face, before getting up and turning towards Harry again.

"And you Potter … stop suborning my godson. I know what you're after. You need to get more time for your friends from the Order to come here and save you. Let me tell you the truth, it's not going to work. They cannot defeat my army, which is waiting outside. You can as well give it up already."

His left hand twitched again, Harry noticed it, judging that Voldemort must be close. It was logical; the Dark Lord could Apparate on Grimmauld Place within several seconds. But Negura got one thing right. Voldemort couldn't find the exact place without Harry telling him its location. What an absurd situation he was facing!

"Let's finish it, Potter. I've lost too much time here already," Negura hissed, strolling confidently back towards him, while Lucius once again attacked his son.

Harry's brain practically boiled. He knew that Voldemort probably knew the correct number, which meant that he had to be behind windows now, still unable to see or hear anything.

Negura grasped his collar, raising him from the ground pressing his face close to his neck again.

Harry made a decision.

Mad situations required mad resolutions.

"You know, there's one thing you should know about Voldemort," he whispered in the vampire's ear.

Draco screamed again, nearly deafening Negura's response.

"And what is that, boy?"

Harry slightly, nearly imperceptibly smiled.

"He is not deaf."

For a moment, Negura's face was blank. He missed Harry's point completely.

Harry didn't give him a time to understand it. He breathed in so much that his chest constricted in another seizure and then screamed at the top of his lungs.

"GRIMMAULD PLACE, NUMBER TWELVE!"

Time seemed to freeze for a split of a second. Then, several things happened at once.

"You little SLINK!" Negura roared and Harry saw the fist coming to his face with such a force that it was certainly going to crush his skull. The vampire's other hand squeezed his windpipe, keeping him in place. Harry could only close his eyes, waiting for the impact to come. It never did.

With a huge explosion the window came apart and a cold air from the outside invaded the room.

Negura disappeared – or at least Harry couldn't see him anymore. He turned his head to look at Draco and gasped in surprise.

The poor young Death Eater was still pressed against the wall, his grey eyes opened wide in shock. Lucius still held him in place, their faces inches apart. Yet his stare wasn't directed at his son, but on the wall behind him, his mouth agape.

There was also the third, and tallest, figure, whose long black robes billowed in the freezing wind. Said figure held Lucius' long hair in one hand while the other plunged some object between vampire's ribs.

"Lucius, my slippery friend," said a high, freezing voice. "We meet again at last."

The older Malfoy let out a choke.

"Haven't I warned you, Lucius, not to betray me ever again? And yet you had the audacity to do that twice in a row. First, during the battle of Hogwarts." The cold hand pushed the object deeper in vampire's chest. Malfoy howled in pain.

"Second, by joining that bloodsucking freak."

Lucius produced a raspy, unrecognizable sound.

"There's only one last thing I wish to tell you...," the cold voice whispered softly.

"_Die._"

With that Voldemort pulled out the wooden pole out of the vampire's chest and Lucius Malfoy staggered backwards, his eyes opened, yet unseeing. His knees gave out to his body weight and with one last rattling sound he fell to the ground, dead.

Draco reached out for him and gave a long heart-breaking cry.

"FATHER!"

A tip of a long wand underneath his chin halted every sound coming from the youngster's mouth.

"Silence, Draco. I'll deal with you later. Until then, you will wait for me here."

Draco's ashen lips opened and closed several times as if he was trying to say something aloud, but he couldn't. Ultimately, his body sagged down beside his father's corpse.

Only then Voldemort turned towards Harry, drawing his long black cape down.

The flaming red eyes met Harry's green ones in a silent staring contest.

"I must say that I'm disappointed a little."

It wasn't Voldemort who said that, but the second fiend in the room. According to his voice he stood somewhere nearby, but Harry still couldn't see him.

"I thought you would consider _me _as your priority target," he went on smoothly.

Voldemort looked up and Harry saw his red eyes narrow in loathing.

"Conceited as ever. What else should I expect from you, Negura?"

"Oh, come on, Voldemort. What was that about? Was it really necessary to kill your old friend?"

Finally Harry noticed some movement on his right side. It was hard to distinguish anything particular over the twilight. He could also see some flashing lights coming from the outside and wondered whether it's the rest of the Order fighting an uneven battle against Negura's vampires.

"Lucius betrayed me. I might be merciful about some other things, but I've never pardoned treachery. Though, I'm certain that _you_ know that," Riddle whispered, his fingers skimming over his wand gently.

"Beside that, I know that it hurts the creator to see his new-born child dying," he added maliciously. "So, tell me, did that hurt a lot, Dragomir?"

"Not at all," Negura smiled falsely. "I don't mind it in slightest if you're willing to take his place."

The tension grew. Voldemort stopped caressing his wand and gripped it tightly.

"Still underestimating me, servant? It's you who's going to die tonight, for good."

"Still living in an illusion, Voldemort? I was never your servant to begin with," Negura countered, making Voldemort hiss virulently.

"Says a man who carries my Mark and who used to kiss my feet."

"I no longer have your Mark, only some remnants of it. You shall recall those events which led to its destruction. Though," he added with a certain reluctance, "I admit that kissing _certain parts_ of your body was ... entertaining."

Voldemort's wand shot up and so did Negura's.

For a moment nothing happened; it was the famous stillness before a storm. It scraped on Harry's nerves that he was lying on the ground in the middle of their clash-zone.

"I see you found yourself a very poor substitute for me," Dragomir sneered. "Why you haven't killed him long ago, I have no idea. I guess if I do it right now, you'll be only grateful..."

It was only when the vampire pointed his wand at him that Harry decided to pay it some attention. His mind was deeply agonized by his fear for his friends. He couldn't see their bodies, but he also noticed no movement. No one else beside him, poor Draco and the two lunatics seemed to be alive in this room. (Though saying that Negura was alive was disputable at least).

The flow of his thoughts was forcefully disconnected as some invisible force suddenly tackled his body and dragged it in the opposite direction to Negura's standpoint. Right after that he was hauled on his feet, a cold hand encircled his sore chest and a pair of cold lips touched his ear.

"You might have stolen the Malfoys from me, but Potter is _mine_," Voldemort hissed possessively.

Harry raised his heavy head to look at Negura's reaction.

"Tche," the vampire leered. "It would never have occurred to me that you are willing to waste your time with such a mediocre whelp."

"And I wouldn't have thought that you could be so jealous, Negura," the Dark Lord sneered, holding Harry closer. "Besides, Harry's much more than your poor substitution. Unlike you, he doesn't taste like a dead flesh."

Harry, completely perplexed by Voldemort's unexpected statement, didn't know how to react. That was not something his archenemy usually said about him. Moreover, it seemed that Hermione finally came round and heard it too. Her shocked gasp said it all. Damn the dreadful timing. Whoever said that he was lucky was gravely mistaken. No, Harry was the most luckless person on the world.

But it wasn't over yet. Nothing in the world could prepare him for what was coming next. The long fingers seized his chin, turning his head towards the source of the warm puffs, which repeatedly touched his earlobe until that moment. At the sight of the red, slightly glowing eyes Harry's mind went blank. It was like the mirror experience all over again, only this time for real. The slow, gliding touch of the cold lips against his had a special, anaesthetic effect on his body, attenuating the pain he felt to a barely perceptible level. He closed his eyes, relishing in the bittersweet taste, in the peculiar smell of spice and old books and in the vibrant, warm feeling, which was making him tipsy. The kiss, the touch and everything about it was amazingly relaxing and yet his toes curled and clenched at the sensation. Their mouths separated slowly and Harry kept his eyes closed for some time before looking up. Breath halted in his chest at the sight of the formerly despicable face. He didn't know what he used to hate so much.

"Yet," Negura growled, obtrusively breaking into their private moment.

Voldemort raised his hairless eyebrow, turning to look at the vampire.

"He doesn't taste like a dead flesh _yet,_" Dragomir emphasized, raised his wand and sent a jet of deadly green light at them without any warning.

**_R&R_**


	35. Confrontation, part III

**Author's note: **First of all, I would like to say that this is the next to last chapter of The cave incident. If anyone of the readers is waiting for the right time to post a review, then it's now, or the next time or probably never. So please, don't hesitate and write me what you think about this story! :D

Secondly, I do appreciate very much the response I received for the previous chapter. You're keeping me writing, guys. Thank you!

Beta - **TheSecretUchiha** Thank you! :)

xxxxx

**Confrontation, part III**

xxxxx

_London, Grimmauld Place, 12_

_26__th_ _December 2000, 03:58_

"HARRY!"

Hermione's frightened screech reached his ears just as the green jet missed his head by a hair's breadth. The deadly light blasted against an old cupboard somewhere behind him, sending chips and splinters everywhere. Harry didn't even know when Voldemort let go of him; he only realized when he was alone all of a sudden. Instinctively, he tried to catch his balance as his support unexpectedly disappeared.

"Using a killing curse, Negura? I admit I didn't expect that coming from you," the Dark Lord spoke coldly, reappearing in Harry's peripheral vision.

Then some invisible force bent Harry's spine, sending him face forward into the dust and dirt. Pain blossomed in his chest again but as he was already accustomed to that feeling, he managed to stifle the cry before it left his mouth. Through his half-closed eyelids he registered a blinding flash of green light emerging from Voldemort's wand.

"Oh, I don't mind using it, as you see," Negura smirked and elegantly avoided a direct hit. "Though, I still consider every score as an unnecessary waste of food."

"Which explains your poor aiming," the Voldemort hissed and blocked the incoming stunning curse with ease. Then he raised his arms, created a large shining blue spiral and sent it directly at his opponent.

Meanwhile, Harry tried to get up and join the fight. The spell which was placed upon him proved to be too powerful though and he couldn't raise himself more than two inches above the ground.

"Harry!"

He heard Hermione call out his name again and looked up, locating her subtle figure on the opposite side of the kitchen. As Negura's counter-curse and the shining spiral attached to Voldemort's wand collided in the air and created a new blast of light, Harry saw her scramble to her feet, pull out her wand from shambles of broken dishes and furniture and turn back to him. She apparently wanted to go over and help him, but didn't realize that he wasn't the one in an urgent need of attendance.

Besides, any attempt to approach him could easily mean meeting one of the killing curses which violently flashed around. A new, strong streak of a venomously green light right above him confirmed his worries.

"Go back!" he screamed out, unsure if she heard him. She halted at least.

"Help the others! Get them out of here!"

Another flash made her crouch. But she looked at him again and nodded.

"Hermione!" he yelled and she quickly looked back. "Be careful!" He couldn't see her response over the darkness which surrounded them for a moment. When a new string of curses provided some illumination, she was already out of the sight.

"Take care," he whispered and turned on a belly, looking over the havoc around him. Maybe he couldn't get up, but he could still crawl to whatever destination he chose. And he knew exactly where he needed to move. He had to collect his wand which was still buried somewhere under the broken table. He wasn't going to let Voldemort crush that devil's spawn all by himself. Not after what Negura had done to his friends.

Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to move ahead. It worked somehow, but his movements were dreadfully slow. Hell, even a snail would be faster! With this pace he won't be able to find his wand till the New Millennium!

Then a thundering explosion momentarily deafened him, bursting apart one of the transverse walls and remaining windows. His body was instantly showered with a new portion of crushed bricks, grit, dust and plaster.

"Damn you!" he yelled at the fighters. If those two maniacs destroyed this house, they would take away the last remembrance of Sirius he had. He had to find a way to kick them out of here before they turned this place into ruins!

Spitting a tirade of swear words, Harry forced his stiff body to move again, faster if possible. It took him a good minute to creep under something that used to be a wardrobe once, possibly, (though how it appeared in the kitchen remained a mystery for him). With this huge object out of the way, he could once again see the dueling couple.

Harry didn't find it very surprising when he saw that Voldemort held the upper hand, keeping Negura in check, striking curse after curse, trying to bring the latter to his knees. It was the vampire's expression which he found totally bewildering. Negura was clearly _amused_ by his predicament and his smile reminded Harry of a parent who willingly let his child win the game to make the kid happy. Any impression of friendliness was however marred by countless injuries all over Negura's body. It didn't seem to bother the vampire though, as his response was still as quick and precise as before.

Harry pressed his broken glasses closer to his face and turned to look at Voldemort. The man was livid. His mouth was twisted in a vicious grimace and his blazing eyes teemed with furious hatred. It seemed that he would rather lose the fight then win it because he was being spared.

"Stop playing with me, you bloodsucking freak!" he snarled and his wand sliced through the air again and again. And then, a fraction of second of inattention on the vampire's behalf nearly cost him his head. The flash of yellow light coming from Voldemort's wand split open from his neck down to his spine. Within the blink of an eye the mocking smile was replaced by a look of shock and rage. Consequently, one of the vampire's hands covered the bloodless wound while the other pointed the wand at Voldemort. Harry didn't hear what Negura growled under his breath (it made him wonder whether he could even produce a sound while his vocal cords were separated from the windpipe); he only saw the result.

It looked like a violet sword rushing out of the tip of his long, umber wand, finding the target with an inhuman precision.

Just a fraction of second later Harry heard a loud, appalling shriek. His head spun to look at Voldemort whose face was no longer twisted in hatred, but in pain. He watched him topple backwards, yew wand falling from his opened palm, clattering against the floor. His tall body followed just a moment later and the sound of it cut deeply into Harry's brain.

Seconds quickly passed and Harry could only wait for something – for _anything_ to happen. He waited in vain.

His breath froze in his throat. A rush of coldness seized his insides as he stared - still disbelieving - at his arch-nemesis who lay very still among burning debris.

_He couldn't be dead, right? _

Voldemort didn't move, didn't try to get up or at least reach for his wand which was just a couple of feet away from him. The absolute lack of interest in his further existence only proved that he had to have sustained a severe, if not fatal, injury.

Harry forced some air into his lungs.

_But he couldn't be dead, right?-!_

It was shocking how quickly it happened, he could only just begin to fully process it. One simple curse and it was all over. After the years and years he and his friends had spent on conceiving secret strategies, hunting his horcruxes and fighting against his Death Eaters, some formerly unknown vampire comes here and strikes him down.

Just like that.

It was _so wrong_.

And it was also ... _hurting_.

Harry couldn't exactly remember when he knew for sure that he wouldn't wish to celebrate Voldemort's death. It could have been weeks, months or years. He still hoped to win over him because that was what he had always hoped for; he still fought him because that was what he was supposed to do so. But he lacked the proper zeal. Things would probably be different if he had something to look forward to in the future, if there was someone waiting for him there. However, Ginny was dead and he was alone, hollow and desolate. Hours ago, he told Voldemort that he wanted him dead though he didn't want to be the one to kill him. Only now he realized how much he had lied and he wished to take it back.

He couldn't accept that this was the end. Voldemort gave his existence at least some purpose. Ironically, he supplied him with the strength to go on. And he refused to accept that it was over, because Voldemort wouldn't die like that. No, no, wouldn't wasn't the right term. Tom Riddle _mustn't_ die like that - that was what he meant. For he still didn't have a chance to tell him … he still couldn't tell him … about the shameful feelings which tormented his heart, feelings he was trying to hide and ignore the best he could, even (_especially_) from himself.

Harry breathed out and forcefully sucked in another portion of the air. Breathing through his cramped throat became a difficult, nearly heroic task.

He needed to shed that burden and spit it all out; otherwise he would probably crumble and fall apart. He needed to say aloud that he may have lost illusions long ago, but the dreadful cave incident helped him to open up his eyes a bit. He needed to say that he refuses to give up on him yet completely. That he believed now that even a fragment of soul means much more than that desolate emptiness in the eyes of those undead monsters. That he knew how vital that fragment still was, enough to show an enormous response when revealed from beneath a thick cover of lies and pretence. He wanted to say that he cared about that fragment, that little piece of humanity Voldemort could never fully renounce as long as his heart pounded.

It didn't make any sense that he cared so much. He felt the same fear for him as for Arthur, Angelina or the other members of the Order who were still fighting vampires outside. His worries nearly reached the level of those he felt for Ron, his best friend. He cared so intolerably that it made his eyes water, though he was continually trying to convince himself that it was because of the pungent smoke which was irritating his nose and palate.

Voldemort couldn't be gone now, when he forced him to realize this. That bastard couldn't do this to him, even though it would be cruel enough to comply with his ruthless reputation.

Then, Negura's quiet, calm voice broke him out of his thoughts.

"Voldemort. The seventh one to join my Council. So mote it be."

Harry turned to look at him. The vampire was once again on his feet; the wound on his neck healed completely and his cold navy-blue eyes glued to the motionless figure.

"Defeating you was still too easy, Voldemort. It was still a disappointment."

Harry glanced back at Riddle and his heart, which was until that moment frozen in his chest, jumped back to life as he caught sight of Voldemort's left arm, which suddenly moved a little.

_So he was alive! That bastard survived it! _

Relief flooded him like storm water, making him ridiculously happy for a very short moment. Right away, he was ashamed.

"I planned to do it differently," Negura continued, "but as you couldn't wait to deal with me I guess I'll have to do it now," he spoke softly and approached the Dark Lord with striking confidence. Then a disturbing smirk appeared back on his handsome face.

And Harry's breath ran short again as he recalled the events from Riddle's Pensieve. He wouldn't be able to watch that horror once again. This time he was going to intervene and stop it from happening no matter what. For the second time since Negura intruded his house Harry felt something move inside him, as if his feelings of hatred and revulsion obtained a physical form. He slowly rose to his feet, unaware that the curse no longer held him down.

The vampire ignored him as he probably didn't consider him as a real threat or because he was too engrossed by his future victim. And Harry was going to use it against him. His heart hammered in his chest, his sweaty palms tingled and his fingers twitched with the urge to grasp a wand and punish that freak for hurting people he cared about. He didn't bother to think of the consequences, it was something he simply had to do.

Voldemort moved again, Harry briefly noticed it although his attention was already fully focused on finding a weapon he could use against Negura. Desperation grew inside him as he finally made it to the shattered table and yet there were so many chippings everywhere that he couldn't tell which one of them was the wand he was looking for.

Another scream and he glanced back at the Dark Lord who apparently tried to reach his wand too, only Negura was faster. He collected the yew wand from the ground, ignoring Riddle's agonized outcry.

"You won't be needing it anymore," the vampire said almost apologetically and with a quick flick of it he raised the Dark Lord from the floor.

Voldemort was indeed seriously injured; Harry could see how wet and sticky his dark robes were from a copious amount of blood. He quickly looked away and cursed himself for that distraction. His task was to find his own wand before Negura could attack Riddle and kill him for good. And he knew that he had only several seconds to do that, because nothing turns vampires wilder than the sight of that crimson liquid.

He went back on the knees and his eyes and hands jumped from one place to another, searching, raking and rummaging through the mess as quickly as possible.

"Damn it! _Damn it!_ It must be here somewhere! Where the hell is that stupid _twig_!"

He had to close his eyes for the briefest moment to regain composure. The imaginary clock kept ticking in his head faster and faster.

"Accio! Accio wand!" he hissed urgently, despair leaking into his voice. He was still searching madly for the lost wand and yet he couldn't stop himself from checking Negura, who meanwhile clenched his hand around the back of Riddle's neck, holding it in an unforgiving clasp.

"I have no idea what you've done to your blood," he heard the vampire whisper, "but the truth is that I don't mind very much. I don't care that you don't smell as appealingly as before."

Harry halted his frantic scramble and looked up.

"I'm curious, though," the Leader admitted. "Because you smell almost like a … Muggle."

Voldemort didn't show any reaction, but Harry nearly toppled over in shock. The memory of Dr. Rodgers giving Voldemort a blood transfusion to save his life sprung before his eyes.

"It's a little displeasing but as I said … it doesn't make much difference to me. So, if you thought that something like that is going to stop me, then you were quite wrong," the vampire whispered, leaning closer to the other man's face and Harry knew he had to do something … _now!_

"Lumos!" he yelped and a soft, bluish light instantly flared up in the ruptured tablecloth right beside his left knee.

He grasped the wand, turned it at Negura and screamed without thinking.

"INCARCEROUS!"

Long ropes burst out of its tip, coiling around Negura's limbs like rabid snakes. The monster screamed in rage, tore the ropes apart, but Harry instantly conjured new ones, which covered his whole body. As the vampire struggled to set himself free Voldemort used the offered chance and pounced, grabbing his yew wand and twisting it from the enemy's forcefully clenched palm. Harry soon felt that he wouldn't be able to hold the Leader fettered for much longer; the wand in his hand was jumping, slipping and sliding between his fingers. With a final scream Negura was free, his umber wand turned the ropes into ashes and then its tip was directed at Harry, a dark blue light rushing out of it, blasting Harry's wand apart, lifting his body and slamming it against a wall.

Harry's chest exploded. Or so he felt. The pain was destructive. The world around him ceased to exist; everything was drowned by the fire in his thorax. In that moment he didn't doubt he was going to die. He knew he was going to die because of Voldemort, as the prophecy said, but who would have thought that the reason for it wouldn't be self-sacrifice for his friends, but self-sacrifice for Voldemort. Life was too absurd sometimes...

The need to breathe grew exponentially, yet anytime he tried to take in some air, his chest heaved and he coughed up blood. He heard noises and screams, but he lacked the energy to open his eyes. Finally, the torture began to ebb away together with his consciousness.

"_Potter!"_

Someone called him, but his eyelids were too heavy to lift up.

"Potter!"

The voice was louder now and then he heard some other words which he didn't understand. The sharp pain was back, enormous, insufferable and he wanted to yell, but how could he when his airways were blocked? Or were they? Because he overheard a painful howl which sounded suspiciously like his own voice.

Then someone's cold hands touched his face and chest, and a high voice spoke close to his ear.

"Breathe."

And he obeyed that voice and nothing could give him greater pleasure than that cool air which rushed into his empty lungs. He did it again and again, dissolving in a sea of relief.

"That's better."

He opened his eyes and gazed up at the large black hole in the ceiling. Finally after many long seconds his eyes turned to the man who said those words.

Voldemort.

Strangely, he wasn't even surprised. To be honest, he expected to see him there for some reason.

"Where's … where's Negura?" he whispered hoarsely.

The Dark Lord didn't answer, only looked aside. Harry awkwardly shifted onto his elbows and turned his head in the same direction. He found him instantly, yet all he could see was a mutilated torso of a human body without arms and head. It was pinned to the floor by a massive wooden stake, still twitching and jerking. Harry couldn't stand that morbid spectacle for any longer and looked back at Voldemort.

"It's not over yet. This merely holds him back for a while," the Dark Lord said blankly and then his flaming red eyes found Harry's again.

He raised his wand and pointed it at Harry's forehead. Harry didn't know what it was supposed to mean. Was he going to use the Killing Curse again to see whether it will or won't work? Before he could say something, before he could even open his mouth, the yew wand briefly tapped his glasses that were instantly good as new.

"I suggest you to visit a healer, Potter. Your lungs have suffered severe damage," Voldemort said dispassionately, got up and turned away from him. .

Harry gulped heavily and rubbed his slightly aching chest in a nervous manner.

"Thanks … for the glasses and for saving my life. By the way, did you do that because you felt obliged? Because I saved you from Negura's claws?" Harry asked.

The Dark Lord hissed virulently and turned back, leaning closer to the youngster.

"I did not require your assistance, Potter!"

Harry bit his lip to hold back an; 'of course not'.

"But … I admit I appreciated your intervention. It served my purpose. Consider your continued existence as a reward."

"Right, great reward. You couldn't let Negura kill me because it's your job to do," Harry said when Voldemort apparently decided that was all what he wanted to tell him.

The Dark Lord halted and looked back over his shoulder.

"Exactly," he whispered softly. "Now gather your filthy friends and get out of here while you can."

"Hey! This is my house! Why should I...?-!"

He was hauled on his feet, cold fingers grasped his chin and raised it up so their eyes met again.

"Listen, Potter," Riddle hissed, their faces not two inches from each other.

Harry held his gaze, waiting for the lesson, but Voldemort was silent. It was then that he realized that the Dark Lord actually wanted him to listen to something.

"Can you hear them crawl closer and closer?"

Harry didn't know what he was referring to.

"There are dozens of vampires outside. All of them certainly heard your loud invitation. The fact that they are still outside is because Negura ordered them to stay put. I'm certain though, that it's only a question of a very short time before they'll succumb to their natural curiosity and pay you a visit. So, you're welcome to stay here, brat, if you wish to die so much!"

Harry stared at him as he spoke, watching the display of emotions on Riddle's face. There was a certain revulsion, displeasure, suspense, apprehension and then some others which were not so easy to distinguish. The black slits in his eyes narrowed and then dilated again, the cold fingers squeezed his chin harder than before.

"Why do you care what's going to happen to me?" Harry whispered without breaking the stare.

The anger flashed in those merciless eyes, before a twisted amusement replaced it.

"I don't care about you, Potter," he whispered, smirked slyly and took a step backward. "It's only that…" he took a deep breath, leaving a dramatic pause, "...you've always been my weak spot. Recently, you made me realize that I can afford to have a weakness as long as it makes me stronger."

He let go of Harry's face, his long fingers glided over his skin in a surprisingly pleasant manner. But his eyes were ice cold and emotionless as ever. Harry reached out to touch his hand, but it would be easier to catch a smoke.

"Wait!" he called. "We have to …er … you know … talk."

"_Have_ _to_?" Voldemort whispered maliciously and disappeared in a shadow. "You're clearly forgetting who I am, Potter."

"Bastard," Harry hissed through clenched teeth. "Okay. I _would like to _talk to you if you don't mind!" he spat, sarcasm seeping from every word.

Voldemort reappeared behind a smashed girder and took another step sideways.

"I do mind in fact. I'm not interested in any discussion with you at the moment. Besides, you're running out of time, brat. The vampires are coming to end your poor, worthless life. Either go now, or never."

Harry finally decided to let it slide and postpone their discussion for some other, more appropriate, time. From what Voldemort told him, he deduced that his friends were still here, inside this house. They probably couldn't leave, the same way the rest of the Order couldn't get inside. Which meant that he had to find them and use some alternative method of transportation. And he had to be quick about it.

xxxxx

Three minutes later Harry was already upstairs, hurling from one room to another, calling Hermione's name. The fire from the battle grew stronger, soon consuming wooden linings around walls, mouldering parquets, dusty banisters, old pictures and tapestry, furniture and everything else beside bare bricks. If Harry had a wand and time, he would try to stop it. However, finding and helping his friends was his first and highest priority.

"Hermione!" he called out and burst in another door, no longer losing time with using handles.

"Harry!"

His heart jumped in joy as he saw her in the corner kneeling by Ron, who lay on his back and his head rested against her lap. Her wand was pointed at him.

"Is that you?"

"Yeah," he gasped breathlessly.

Her lips trembled a little as she asked.

"What was Ginny's favourite charm?"

"Bat-Bogey Hex and miniskirts," he said without hesitation.

He saw her lips quirk upwards, but then her eyes filled sadness. "You're right. Sorry, I had to ask."

Harry only nodded.

"I understand, but we have to leave now. How's Ron?" he hurled out.

"He's alive, but still unconscious. I stopped the bleeding at least. I really can't do much more for him at the moment," she whispered and looked aside at the older man, whose back was propped against the wall. "Mr. Weasley's better. I repaired his broken arm and healed the concussion. He's asleep now."

"Harry," she said urgently and turned to him. "I tried to take them outside and Apparate as you wanted but I couldn't because..."

"...there are hordes of vampires out there. Yeah, I know," he finished for her.

"Have you seen Angelina?" he asked as he helped her on feet .

"No, I'm afraid..."

"I'd rather you don't say it aloud," he muttered through his gritted teeth. "We've got to go, Hermione. We will use the Emergency Floo Network which is connected to the fireplace on the ground floor. It's designed for two people so you'll go first with Ron and I'll take Mr. Weasley afterward."

"I'll try to wake him up," she said and Harry nervously looked around.

"Okay, just hurry up, we don't have a time..."

"Ennervate!"

Arthur opened his eyes on that instant. He looked dazed. Then he saw them above him and leaned forward. A twinge of pain made his lips tighten as he tried to sit up properly.

"Harry … Hermione... What … where's...?"

"Not now Mr. Weasley," Harry hissed urgently. "We've got to go. We will tell you everything later."

"Can you get up?" Hermione asked solicitously.

"I think so," Arthur muttered and hoisted himself up on his feet.

"Good. Hermione, take Ron, please. Come on. We must go!" Harry said, while watching his surroundings guardedly.

"What … what happened to my son?-!" Arthur stuttered out when Hermione levitated the ginger headed young man from the ground.

"He should be fine once he gets the medical help," Harry said hopefully. "But we must get out of here first! Hurry up!"

He grabbed someone's sleeve and dragged them back to the staircase. The wild flames turned the small space into a furnace. Harry heard Hermione cast some protective charm as they climbed downstairs. Finally they reached the ground floor and Harry led them amongst burning shatter towards the fireplace.

"Here you go. See you in a minute at the Hog's Head. Tell Aberforth to contact McGonagall immediately. I'm sure that Madam Pomfrey will take much better care of Ron than any other healer. I don't think it would be a good idea to take him toSt. Mungo's now," he said as he put a small bag with glittering powder into Hermione's hand. She opened her mouth to say something, but a sudden, horrendous scream interrupted her.

"DAMN!" Harry swore as he recognized the voice. He fisted his hair in desperation. "It's Draco!"

"Malfoy?" Mr. Weasley asked with displeasure. "He's still here?"

Harry bit his aching lower lip and nodded as he came to some resolution.

"Just go ahead. I'll follow you as soon as possible."

"Harry, you're not going to help him right?-!"

"Look, I..."

"By the way, where's your wand, Harry?" Hermione asked as she noticed his empty hands.

"Negura destroyed it. But don't worry, Voldemort conquered him right after that."

"What … WHAT? You-Know-Who is here?-!" Arthur gasped for breath.

"I had to break the Fidelus Charm, Mr. Weasley," Harry said tiredly and rubbed the bridge of his nose to lessen his growing headache. "Otherwise Negura would kill us all."

Another one of Draco's screams made all of them look in that direction.

"Harry, you can't stay here another second then!" Arthur's voice rose in intensity.

"Mr. Weasley, please! If Voldemort wanted to kill me then I would've been dead a couple of hours ago. Please, just take your son and get him some help! I'll see what I can do for Draco. I can't let the vampires take revenge upon him if I can stop it!"

He didn't wait for their response and hurried in a direction of painful screams. He heard them calling after him, but he didn't stop until the moment when he saw something what made him practically tumble over his own legs.

It wasn't the vampires that were making Draco cry.

He couldn't … he couldn't believe it.

It was Voldemort.

That bastard was using the Cruciatus Curse against the poor young Death Eater and, according to the great amusement displayed on his face, he was absolutely enjoying it!

Harry's mouth moved idly. Awakening was sometimes brutal and unrelenting. He may have lost his illusions long ago, but he apparently made several new ones during recent times. How stupid – childish – of him! He gulped idly as he stared at the person he learned to care about. This sadistic bully, who doesn't hesitate to torture a victim of circumstances to make himself feel better. Harry's stomach made a violet flip and his knees bucked. He didn't know why he felt so betrayed. He was familiar with Voldemort's cruel ways. He knew about his crimes, so why did his heart ache as if it was wrenched out of his chest?-!

"You sick bastard!" he roared as his fury fully erupted inside him. He shot ahead like a bullet, hoping to smash Voldemort by the impact.

A Trip Jinx which made him stumble and fall before he could reach his target.

He looked up, Voldemort's furious eyes on him, his mouth moving.

"Crucio!"

"PROTEGO!"

The curse never reached Harry as it was blocked by a strong counter curse. Harry looked back as fast as he could and saw Hermione stand about fifteen feet behind him, her wand pointing at Voldemort. Her face was paler than paper, her hand shook so much that he could see each tremble, but her grip was firm and her pose rebellious.

"Mudblood," Voldemort whispered softly and Harry's heart missed a beat as he registered open malice in that voice. "Courageous and … soon to be dead."

"NO!" Harry screamed and scrambled on his feet.

"Don't you dare … don't you dare!" he wheezed, squeezing his aching chest.

Voldemort's crimson eyes left Hermione's frame and bore into Harry's.

"Or what, Potter?"

The hand holding a yew wand dropped an inch.

"What are you going to do to stop me?"

Harry said nothing, only held the cruel eyes and crammed the stare with every emotion which boiled inside his heart. He wanted to flood Voldemort's mind with the feeling of pain, disappointment and betrayal. He wanted to see if the bastard could at least react to it or not.

And it worked. It was shocking, yet it really worked. He could almost feel the Dark Lord protect his mind and senses from this forceful disclosure of raw feelings. Strangely, Voldemort never reacted to anyone's feelings before.

"Why are you still here, Potter?" he whispered, his voice still cold, venomous.

The yew wand sagged down another couple of inches.

"Let him go," Harry said firmly and looked down at a very green, young man on the floor. Draco's eyes widened in a wordless shock. He gazed at Harry with the most incredulous expression written all over his face.

"What was that?" the Dark Lord hissed venomously, his lips twitching in irritation.

"I said let him go," Harry repeated calmly. He forced his breath to slow down, never looking away from the blazing eyes.

Voldemort was silent for a moment and then he laughed coldly.

"Impudent fool! Pray tell me, why should I..."

"You _owe_ me, Riddle!" Harry interrupted him and raised his chin. "You owe me for saving your life!"

The Dark Lord's eyes instantly narrowed.

"Oh really, Potter? And here I thought I repaid you moments ago."

"Well, I'm not talking about what happened here," Harry said sternly. "I'm talking about what happened in the quarry a week ago. I saved your life when I carried you out of there. I could easily have let you freeze to death and you are very well aware of that."

Voldemort said nothing to that, his mouth tightened for a second.

"Let him go," Harry said again, quieter this time. "And consider us even. Spare Malfoy's life and you no longer have to feel any obligation towards me."

Harry heard Draco's surprised gasp as well as he noticed the shocked expression which appeared on Voldemort's face for a second before it was gone.

"You're willing to sacrifice your only 'protection' for the sake of a Death Eater, for Draco Malfoy … your _enemy_?"

So it was true. The only thing which held Voldemort back from killing him was that obligation. Harry should be glad that he finally knew the answer. But he wasn't glad, he was resentful … and hurting. He didn't want to show that bastard any of his feelings anymore.

His eyes clouded, yet his voice remained firm as he calmly said.

"Yes."

"Harry, no!" Hermione screamed behind him, but he didn't look away from those sanguine eyes.

"And why would you do something like that?" Voldemort's voice suddenly held some new, formerly absent, emotion. Harry couldn't identify it as well as he couldn't reply to that question. He couldn't tell Voldemort that he needed to discover the depth of changes in their relationship – if there were some to begin with. He needed to know whether Voldemort still wanted to murder him on spot as he declared. He chose a risky way how to find it out, but he didn't see any other option. And now he was afraid that the answer was not what he had hoped for. He looked away; he couldn't show him the treacherous emotions he suddenly felt.

"Do you … _love _him? Because that's what fools like you often do for those who they care about, correct?" Voldemort asked coldly and the new emotion exploded in his usually detached voice with such intensity that there couldn't be any doubt.

Harry's eyes grew wide as he still stared at the ground. He thought he was going to hyperventilate for a moment. So he was wrong in his judgment after all, because Voldemort clearly felt something more than a pure hatred. Because right now he was … he was definitely and irrevocably _jealous_!

The tip of the yew wand raised his chin and forced him to meet the flaring eyes again.

"Answer me, Potter!"

_Yes, yes!_ Harry's mind screamed. _He was jealous! He was soooo jealous! _

Voldemort took a quick step backwards as if he got burnt. He bared his teeth in distaste and hissed several swear words in Parseltongue. Only then Harry realized that that emotionally retarded prodigy probably misinterpreted his thoughts.

"No, I don't," Harry said resolutely but the damage was already done.

"Silence, Potter! I no longer wish to listen to your lies!"

Riddle took another step backward.

"It doesn't matter to me, brat! I'll spare Malfoy's life, erase that obligation towards you and then I'll watch _them_ feed off your necks. Lord Voldemort is no longer interested in your pathetic existence, Harry Potter!"

Harry bit his lip forcefully. Honestly, how could someone so intelligent be so dull-witted about some things at the same time?

But - oh, damn it! Now it seemed that Harry had much worse problems then one enraged Dark Lord in front of him. He looked around wildly and to his absolute horror he realized that the vampires already entered the room, they crawled through the broken windows, and holes in the walls. Their opened chops showed sets of murderous glistering canines and their dilated eyes were overflowing with a mad blood lust.

"And you, _Draco_," Voldemort said quietly as he retreated into the depths of the house. "Enjoy those few minutes of life which Potter won for you. I hope you'll find them _unforgettable_."

xxxxx

"Hermione! Hurry up to the fireplace!" Harry roared as he looked over the legion of vampires, the mass of their bodies rolling inside.

"Harry!" she screamed and immobilized several closest vampires. Their eyes met over the distance and he knew for sure in that moment that she was not going to go without him. And it wasn't in his power to make her leave. Harry couldn't approach her without a wand clearing his way and she couldn't fight all those vampires alone. Damn it, they needed a help. If only the Emergency Floo Network could work in both directions, but it was one of its basic principle that it couldn't be possible, because it gave this place the necessary protection. No one was allowed to enter this house from the other side.

At least Ron and Mr. Weasley were safe. It was a poor consolation...

But why didn't the vampires attack them yet? Harry noticed that they peered at them hungrily, yet didn't assault them unless they were cursed or otherwise harmed! And Malfoy - that idiot - didn't notice it as he shot one curse after another, making the vampires around him rabid. Harry could hardly speak that ill of him; Draco was totally panicking.

He didn't wait another second and pounced at Malfoy, grabbing his wrist and forcing him to stop the attacks.

Draco screamed as he thought immediately that Harry was one of them.

"Shut it, Malfoy!" he yelled into his ear. "Shut it! They are not after us … yet!"

"Potter!" Draco spluttered, trying to squirm from his firm hold.

"I said shut it!" Harry retorted and held him with all the strength his crushed chest bone allowed. Finally, Draco seemed to realize it too. The vampires indeed didn't want to kill them yet.

"Hermione!" Harry screamed once he was absolutely sure. "Stop attacking them!"

He could barely see her over the mass of bodies which was already inside the room, but he hoped she heard him. He backed with Malfoy to the wall and propped himself against it, standing on a tiptoes to have a better view of what was going on. He could see Voldemort standing in the middle of the room (it used to be a living room where he stood; it was previously separated from the kitchen by a massive wall, but as the wall was already demolished, the whole ground floor could be overseen from one side to the other). The vampires formed a circle around him, but kept a safe distance from him. Harry was trying to locate Negura, but he couldn't see him yet. Was it even possible for that monster to heal such tremendous injuries?

"Potter!"

Draco's voice butted in his thought. Harry realized that he was unconsciously throttling him and he released his grip a little.

"Sorry," he hissed and looked over the hungry faces of the vampires which were within their reach.

"Potter," Draco spoke again, more hesitant now. "You …er ... you don't love me, right?"

Harry choked and if he wasn't propped against the wall he would certainly double over.

"Never did and never will!"

It seemed to reassure Malfoy a lot.

"Good," he whispered. "I can die in peace now."

"So can I," Harry hissed. "A hundred years later. I'm not giving it up yet, Malfoy," he added and swung up on tiptoes again. He tried to locate Hermione and see whether she was all right.

"Then why," Malfoy continued, once again hesitant. "Why did you do that for me, Potter?"

"Oh, just to piss Voldemort off," Harry said offhandedly, still trying to find her. "Guess it worked pretty nicely, what do you think?"

Draco turned his head over his shoulder and stared at Harry as if he had gone bonkers. Harry noticed his incredulous stare and quietly whispered.

"Now you don't really expect me to tell you the true reason, do you?"

Once again Malfoy looked extremely relieved.

"You know, Potter, sometimes you're really scary."

Harry smirked, but mostly because he was relieved too. He finally found his friend. Hermione was still about twenty feet from them, also pressed against the wall. She looked frightened but unharmed.

Then a sudden commotion moved the crowd before them. Harry heard the vampires hiss and snarl something. Just a moment later they all quietened, looking in one direction. Harry's toes started to sting from the stress he applied on them. But he needed to see what was going on. Voldemort still stood on one spot in his favourite position. His head was bowed and his hands were folded over the yew wand in front of him. He was waiting for something. And Harry guessed he knew for what … or who.

The crowd finally stood apart and Riddle slowly raised his head to see who he was facing. It was Negura – of course. The freak's healing powers were close to impossible. All the vampires were looking at their Leader now, waiting for his command. And Negura was looking at Voldemort, who was still shockingly calm. Harry couldn't help but feel something close to admiration toward him in that moment.

Negura gazed at Voldemort but didn't say anything. His head ultimately turned towards the window as if he was waiting for someone and indeed a few seconds later a young man – or a vampire more likely – appeared at the windowsill. He smoothed his elegant anthracite suit, adjusted his collar and strode confidently toward the Leader. He knelt before him and bowed his head.

"Umbridge and the Aurors are coming. I'm aware of that," the Leader spoke calmly. "Hold her back for a moment. I will solve this matter in a few minutes."

The man bowed again, got up and left as quickly as he came.

"So, it has come to this end," the Leader whispered softly and turned to Voldemort.

Voldemort said nothing. Not a single facial muscle moved in his face.

"I was hoping to avoid this development," Negura continued and stepped a little closer towards his opponent.

"You know your options, Voldemort. Either you'll kneel and beg for mercy (which I will provide and embrace you as my dearest child), or you'll keep your foolish pride and I'll order them to tear you apart."

The Dark Lord still said nothing, but he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Then he opened them again, unshaken and composed. Harry couldn't understand why Voldemort decided to stay here and face Leader's horrendous army all alone. He could run or fly away if he wanted to but now it could be too late, because vampires could fly too – and probably just as fast.

Negura slowly paced around the circle his vampires formed around Voldemort, playing with his wand distractedly. Then he stopped before him again.

"Don't make me order them to kill you," he spoke with growing tension. "I don't want to do that. You must realize that you have no other choice than to join me. _Kneel_!"

Voldemort smirked and finally spoke. His cold voice dripped with hatred and malice.

"You don't want me to kneel before you, Negura. If I do, I'm certain you'll regret it." His wandless hand disappeared in his robes and a moment later he pulled out some flask. Harry couldn't see what it was properly until he brought it to his lips and swallowed up the whole content at once. It had a very familiar flaming red colour; Harry instantly remembered seeing this vial back in Voldemort's hideout. He knew nothing about its effects, but it seemed to cause Voldemort serious pain. The Lord bent over, holding his throat, gasping for breath. And then he straightened his back again, drew up his wand at eye level and stilled.

At that moment Negura ran out of patience.

He looked over the hungry crowd of his vampires and then he bared his long canines as he barked out the order.

"As you wish then. Kill him!"

Voldemort dropped to one knee and it was the last glimpse Harry saw him before he disappeared beneath a mass of bodies.

_**R&R**_


	36. What you win and what you lose

**Author's note:** So, here it is. The final chapter of The cave incident. Thank you for your patience, I know it took me longer than usual to finish it. I wanted to do it justice and now it's only up to you to tell me what you think about it.

Before the chapter begins I would like to thank to each and everyone of you who read this story, reviewed it and enjoyed it - because that's the reason why I wrote it in the first place. If you're curious if there will be a sequel, you'll find the answer at the end of this chapter.

Also, I must not forget to say that my biggest thanks belong to my perfect beta, theSecretUchiha. Thank you for an awesome job, I'm really, really grateful! :D

xxxxx

**What you win and what you lose**

xxxxx

_London, Grimmauld Place 12_

_26__th__December 2000, 0__4__:__3__8_

No matter how much humanity vampires seemed to preserve at the first sight, they were nothing close to human. If Harry had to compare them to something, he would probably say that their rabidness could only be equal to the bestiality of werewolves during the full moon.

Just hearing the sounds they produced was enough to make the bravest men shiver. Their snarls' and roars' were nothing short of horrible; the way they attacked each other in order to reach the dreamed-of prey first only showed the true monstrosity of their condemnation. Harry couldn't afford himself the luxury of raving, but if he could, he would probably imagine the Gates of Hell being open and the most hideous creatures crawling out of its depths.

In any case, he had to stay focused if he wanted to find out what kind of plan Voldemort wanted to carry out. The Dark Lord certainly knew what was coming, Harry mused fervently. Yet he stayed here, facing it all by himself.

_But w__hy? __And w__hy __wa__sn't he doing anything __about it __yet?_

The knifes of terror cut deeper through him as he watched the growing heap of writhing, ravenous beasts, piling on the spot where the Dark Lord stood just a moment ago. What he saw led him to a dreadful conclusion.

_What if Voldemort's plan failed?_

Harry's fingers went numb as he feverishly squeezed whatever his hands took hold of. His lungs started to burn again, yet he stifled whimpers and complaints. He had to do something to forget that pain … but the question was, what? Should he try to help him or not? And if he should, then how?

An elbow in his ribcage made him howl in pain. Malfoy, who just extracted himself from his grasp, turned around and shoved him forcefully against the damaged wall.

"Stop doing that, Potter! Stop throttling me!" he snarled, rubbing his aching throat. With the vampires out of the way the young Death Eater could freely take a few steps aside.

Harry only partially welcomed the distraction. His muscles and nerves only tensed up as he watched Draco smooth down his expensive robes.

"And you should stop sniveling, Malfoy," he snapped while hugging his sore chest. "By the way, I have a feeling that your _master_ is in serious trouble. You should hurry up and help him," he added as he glared at the wand in Draco's palm meaningfully.

"Tche. Why do you care, Potter?" the young blond man sneered in response. "The Dark Lord did not request my assistance thus I'm not obliged to do anything. Besides, I'm not suicidal. I don't know how about you, but I'm leav … oh, great Salazar!"

Malfoy's long face suddenly twisted in disgust.

"Filthy mudblood's coming here," he hissed in distaste and retreated a few more steps. "Can't they just tear her apart already or something?"

"Shut up!" Harry sputtered infuriatingly. "I really don't understand how could she ever decide to help you … you little ungrateful scoundrel!"

Malfoy only snorted.

"And I don't understand why I wanted to help you myself," Harry added, lowering his voice. "Voldemort and his lot - just what exactly was I expecting? Why was I thinking that something … could change," he whispered bitterly and his bright green eyes pierced the young aristocrat hatefully before he turned back to locate his friend. He couldn't see her at first, but fortunately his worriment didn't last too long. He soon found her weaving her way through the mad crowd, using her wand to confound monsters which appeared to be too close. Once she was close enough he reached forward and grasped her sleeve, pulling her into the relative safety of a niche in a broken wall, partly sheltered by a shattered cupboard.

"Hermione! Have you lost your mind?" he snapped at her immediately. "Why did you come here? You shouldn't have risked so much!"

She exhaled in relief that he was all right and leaned against the wall.

"I had to do something," she said then. "And trust me, leaving you here without a wand was not an option! Tell me, how would you get out of this alone?" Her strict tone cut off Harry's protests. Sometimes it was really hard to disagree with her because as far as he knew, she was always right - even now. Harry couldn't deny that without her he would probably follow the Dark Lord's dreadful fate. He looked back at the place where he last saw him and suddenly felt sick of everything – the turn of events, the vampires and most of all his own fecklessness.

"Harry, we can't linger here," Hermione told him resolutely as she noticed his idleness and Harry could only nod, deep in thoughts as he was. Although he agreed with her, he didn't move. He couldn't make himself run away without knowing what happened to Riddle. He knew that he shouldn't feel any concern for him; Voldemort even gave him solid reasons why not to care a straw about him and yet the young wizard couldn't listen to reason, his heart's desires were too strong.

Just why did everything have to be so utterly maddening?-! Facing these naughty desires was more frightening than fighting that horde of thirsty vampires with bare hands. Harry knew they _must_ leave. The vampires will attack them too without any doubt, so by staying here he was risking Hermione's life! And all of it because of his parents' murderer! Who was he kidding?

And yet a mere thought of Voldemort dying here because of _him_ made his chest monster howl in fury. It was all his fault; Harry literally called for the Dark Lord's help!

He chewed on his hurting lips, tasting the metallic flavour of his blood, squeezing his palms, looking at Hermione and then back at the growing pile of rabid vampires.

"Harry!" Hermione implored and tugged at his hand urgently.

"Where … where're Ron and Arthur?" Harry called back, knowing that he was only buying time to postpone his final decision. He had never felt so powerless as he did right now and it had nothing to do with the lack of wand in his hand.

"They're safe, Harry! You really don't need to worry about them. I forced Arthur to use the Floo powder when you ran to help Malfoy."

"You forced him?" Harry asked, backing slowly as Hermione dragged him towards the broken windows.

"Harry … just don't ask. Please, let's go!" she pleaded. As he looked at her, only then did he fully realized how terrified she was.

And so he made his decision. No matter what happened to Riddle, saving Hermione should be – no it must be his priority. He can deal with his stupid feelings later.

For one last time Harry looked back at the place where Voldemort stood not so long ago and then he turned back to his friend.

"You're right," he said flatly. "We must go."

He glanced up towards the exit, noticing that Draco was already ahead of them, trying to crawl out one of the windows. Harry seized Hermione's hand, helping her jump over the ruins as they quickly ran after Malfoy.

And then, as if Harry wished on it, a sudden piercing, earsplitting sound set his brain aflame. He screamed and covered his ears, falling to the ground, rolling on it in spasms. The pain he suffered was excruciating. When he thought he couldn't stand it anymore, the frequency of the sound sharply increased and then, finally, dropped. Harry waited a few more seconds before he gingerly let go of his ears and, after another moment, sighed in relief. He raised his head and realized that Hermione was on the ground too, looking owlishly around just like he was. Without exchanging a single word they were both searching for the source of that infernal sound, which meanwhile turned into penetrative vibrations. Everything around them began to shake and rattle. The floor moved and creaked, the walls rippled, even the ceiling sagged few inches.

Harry's confusion grew as he couldn't find anything what could be possibly causing those violent quakes. He couldn't detect anything suspicious and so he gave up searching and focused on the vampires instead. Though it was quite difficult to distinguish their figures through the mass of floating dust, he couldn't overlook a sudden change in their behavior. Something had happened.

Was it now then? Did that mean that Voldemort was ultimately dead?

Harry forcefully bit into his clenched fist to overcome a seizure of despair. Oh, how dreadful it was to feel such fear and panic for that bastard, especially when he thought that after Ginny's death he became immune to it. Everything about Voldemort reminded him that he was still alive and damn, it was crazy but Harry didn't know whether to be grateful or hate him for it.

Whatever he felt at the moment he knew he hated Negura incomparably more.

Before Harry's little chest monster could react more profusely to these findings, something else diverted his attention. A soft, golden light appeared in the midst of shambles, glimmering gently, innocently. The young man slowly sat up, trying and failing to make some recognition through a madly swirling dust cloud.

"What is it?" he muttered as the shine rapidly grew brighter and brighter. The dust was suddenly blown away by a strong, unexpected gust of a cold wind and the young wizard could see for the first time what was really going on there.

No … it couldn't be … but Harry certainly wasn't mistaken...

He knew, not only his appearances, but also his gestures, his movements … so it couldn't be anyone else.

Harry bit into his fist again, only this time to hold back a cheerful outcry. Just as he ultimately gave up on Voldemort, he had to prove him wrong. The bastard obviously learned a lesson during their imprisonment in the cave. He wasn't going to give up, no matter what. Harry's heart made several flips in his chest, feeling a ludicrous, inexplicable joy. He raised his head a bit higher to see him better. The Dark Lord was kneeling, his left hand firmly holding the wrist of his other hand above his head. The long, spidery fingers clutched at the yew wand as if it was incredibly difficult to keep it steady in his palm. Though he was on his knees, no one could look less defeated than him.

Also, it was him or more specifically his invincible magic, which was the source of both, the sharp golden light and that earsplitting sound. He was enveloped by an odd, shimmering bubble, which apparently worked as both a shield and a weapon at once.

Harry leaned forward and quickly wiped the dust off his glasses to improve his vision. It seemed to him that the sharp flares, which the bubble occasionally emitted, were blinding the monsters.

"Harry! Harry! Did you see that?-!" he heard Hermione call out from behind him. She somehow managed to crawl next to him and nestled herself in a small hollow surrounded by broken bricks. They both had to resist a violent wind which pushed them backwards, away from the battle field. Harry briefly noticed that they were still out in an open space which could prove to be very dangerous. However, to his great surprise, Hermione didn't mind. She pointed her finger at Voldemort, making a curiously exultant face.

Harry looked back at the fiery bubble and realized that the Dark Lord's magic wasn't just blinding the vampires … no … it was_ crushing_ them. His mouth fell open as another gleam erupted from the globe and burned another pack of vampires to ashes.

"Did you see that?-!" Hermione exclaimed again.

"Just what is it?-!" Harry called back, feeling confusion about why Hermione found such a dangerous magic so fascinating.

"I think I have an idea! It must be one of the...!"

Hermione's ecstatic voice was drowned by another piercing sound. The flare immediately multiplied, the shine was so powerful that Harry could no longer look at it without fear of going blind as well. Instead, he focused on the chaos which broke loose among the vampires. Negura screamed something at his poor minions, his deadly white face holding expression of shock, rage and disbelief. He tried to stop Voldemort with some spell, but at that point Harry didn't give him any chance. The monsters were retreating – or better say they were running for their lives (though it was disputable if they still had that). They were rolling towards Harry and Hermione like a destructive blast wave.

The young witch saw that and screamed. Harry tried to get up and drag her away, but it was too late. The small sun Voldemort created around himself exploded, creating the most frightening and astonishing light show Harry had ever seen. The wild flames sprung in all directions, consuming the roaring crowd of rabid creatures, pulverizing them, rushing towards them, closer and closer...

Harry embraced Hermione protectively, trying to shield her from the direct impact, though he knew it was futile. They were going to be crushed by a magic that drastically exceeded his wildest imagination.

The smite was powerful. It lifted them both and hurled them against a wall which he heard crack and crumble beneath them. Harry felt a sharp pain, but he couldn't say whether it was due to his previous injuries or some new ones. He didn't know why he felt so dreadfully cold when he should be burning. He knew he was engulfed by monstrous flames, yet all he could perceive beside the unholy iciness was the wailing of the wind, loud cracking sounds and a buzz of something like electricity which rushed through him. It was so intense that it nearly made him collapse from the sensory overload. He fought that weakness, keeping his eyes firmly closed, waiting for his body to start to burn and crumble apart. When none of it happened, he boldly opened his eyelids a little.

The moment he did that all sounds and lights disappeared.

The quiet and dark was absolute.

_I'm dead._

This first presumption was quickly cast aside because the pain in his chest and the growing need for air said otherwise. He breathed in and coughed. A horrible taste in his mouth made him cough even more. He blinked and rubbed copious amounts of dust from his eyes.

"Harry..."

He shook his head and slowly sat up, rubbing the dust and dirt from his hair and clothes. His fingertips were still freezing cold.

"Hermione," he wheezed and groped around himself, half-blind.

"Harry." Hands, a little warmer, touched his own. "Are you hurt?"

"No," he coughed and wiped the rest of dirt out of his eyes. Hermione sat before him, her hair was grey from the dust in it, her face ashy for the same reason, but otherwise she looked all right. He still had to ask.

"What about you?"

"Without injuries … if you don't count scratches and bruises," she replied and also began to rub dirt off her face.

Harry shook his head again, making more ash fall from his hair.

"Great to hear that. Right, so … what just happened?"

For the first time since he opened his eyes he truly looked around to see what was left of his house. Horrified, he realized he could only see some burning ruins. The anger surged inside him as he turned his eyes up - and his breath hitched in his windpipe. Innocently, dozens of stars twinkled down at them from their immense distance. There was no ceiling above him. Also, no first floor, no second floor, no roof … nothing.

Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place was gone, destroyed to the foundations. It no longer existed, besides some relics. The fact that the same fate met the neighbouring houses, which were also smashed to pieces, only fueled Harry's rage. He let out a fierce growl and grasped his aching chest.

"Sirius...," he muttered, the bitter taste in his mouth prevailing above anything. A bile rose in his throat.

"SIRIUS!" he cried, feeling as if he lost his godfather once again.

"YOU BASTARDS!" he howled and jumped on his feet, looking around, feverish. Hermione called out at him but he didn't listen; he only glanced at whimpering Malfoy, who lay curled on the ground few feet away from them them. Harry felt no desire to check if he was all right, the conceited young Death Eater had to wait, as he needed to find the culprits and punish them.

"Damn you," he hissed. "Damn you!"

He climbed on an uprooted pillar, looked over the havoc quickly … and found what he was looking for. Mad as he was, his jaw still dropped at a sight of a crater (he couldn't describe it any better) at the place where the living room used to be. At the very place where Negura ordered his army to kill Voldemort.

The vampires were gone - exterminated, flattened and annihilated just like this house, if Harry could say so. He didn't see anyone else, only the Dark Lord who still knelt in the middle of that flat, perfectly circular, twenty feet wide hole, barely illuminated by burning wrecks.

And he was _steaming_. Water evaporated from his robes and his skin as if the wizard was scorching hot. The Dark Lord was very still. He didn't even seem to breathe though it was difficult to judge that over such a distance. As he stared at him, Harry's anger slowly turned into fascination. Did Voldemort just destroy dozens and dozens of vampires by a _single_ curse? Was it even possible? Did Riddle's magic really know no boundaries? More importantly, if Voldemort was able to destroy this house _and_ the vampires, why had he, Hermione and Draco survived it?

Harry made two more steps onwards before a quiet sound coming from behind caught his attention. He looked back and noticed that Hermione caught up with him, her face pale, full of penitence and regret.

"I'm sorry for this, Harry," she whispered. "I know I shouldn't have invited Malfoy to come here. If I didn't do that, Negura would never have entered this house. None of this would have happend."

"Oh, come on, Hermione," Harry said quietly as his anger somehow dissipated. "How could it even occur to you to blame yourself? No, it's not your fault but ... theirs."

Hermione's sudden bewildered expression informed Harry that she also finally spotted Voldemort.

"My...," she whispered in a completely different, astonished tone. "I've never seen anything like this before. Amazing… He really used one of the mythical curses."

Harry looked back at Riddle.

"He used what?" He didn't quite like the sound of it.

"A very rarely performed magic," she said quietly, her eyes glued to Voldemort's still figure. She didn't even scold Harry for being ignorant of the matter, which possibly meant that she was too fascinated to reproach him for his limited knowledge.

"Many wizards and witches believe," she continued quietly as she stared ahead, "that there is no magical way how to kill _the undead_, the soulless creatures, such as vampires and Dementors. You can stab the vampire's heart to kill it as you can use Patronus Charm to chase a Dementor away, but to _destroy_ them with magic … no, no one could ever do that, except for..."

"Except for who?" Harry asked with growing trepidation.

His voice finally brought Hermione back to reality. She blinked and looked up at him.

"Have you ever read _History of Magic_?" she asked and her facial expression instantly changed, reminding Harry of Snape during a Potion exam.

"You mean the collection of twelve books, each of which two feet thick? Sorry, but I really haven't read _that_," Harry snapped, close to losing his patience.

"You should at least pay some attention when Professor Binns..."

"Hermione!"

Harry really didn't want to remind her what grades he usually received for that subject.

"Okay, okay … who was the greatest wizard of all time?" she asked and Harry only rolled his eyes.

"Merlin, of course," he sighed loudly. This was crazy, really; Voldemort might wake from his languor any second, the other members of the Order were probably coming here along with Aurors, there might be some fanged survivors prowling towards them at the very moment and yet they were standing here, having this discussion.

Naturally, he was the only one to notice as Hermione was too enthralled by the topic she talked about.

"Exactly!" she exclaimed. "In the second volume of History of Magic, there is this report about how Merlin destroyed – no, wiped away – hundreds of vampires who were slaughtering people in muggle villages. It was the first and also last time that vampires openly fought magicians. Ever since then they preferred to stay in secrecy, away from wizards and even muggles, murdering without being seen. The curse which Merlin used was described as a golden sun which turned the night into a day and reduced _the undead_ to ashes, while those poor muggles remained unharmed."

"Remarkably familiar," Harry whispered and looked back at Voldemort. "Do you think he could use the same spell...?"

"Harry, it's only a legend, but..."

"His magical abilities could be equal to Merlin's then. Quite a scary thought."

"Totally frightening...," Hermione whispered. "Nevertheless, I'm convinced that that spectacular increase of his powers was caused by the potion he drank. If my reasoning is correct, then he had to use one of the Forbidden potions. It could be _Fortiserum_, which releases magic from every pore and fiber of the magician's body and multiplies it for a short amount of time. However, if the wizard or witch who uses this potion doesn't drink the antidote soon, they very quickly run dry of their life force and can easily..."

"Can easily what?" Harry whispered.

"Die," she finished quietly. "What's even worse, once the magician drinks the antidote, he or she will lose all magical abilities for many days as the potion seals the remaining magic within the body cells to ensure the survival."

Harry's throat tightened as he heard her quick whisper.

"How is it that you know all these things, Hermione?" he asked to mask his flurry.

"I've read that horrible book, remember?" she hissed. "Secrets of the Darkest Art. I have to admit that I've also learned some _things_," she said reluctantly and grimaced.

"However, even I can say that the way You-Know-Who managed to combine the Dark Arts with magic invented by Merlin was incredibly … interesting."

Harry had suspected her that she wanted to describe her 'interest' in far more imaginative way, but he didn't have a chance to taunt her as Voldemort suddenly moved. It was for the first time since Harry found him kneeling in that crater.

Slowly, gracefully, Riddle hoisted himself up on his feet and opened his sanguine eyes. Harry's body slightly stiffened, but it wasn't because of a fear. He couldn't properly describe it but he felt really strange as he watched him cool down after such a great magical performance. His attention turned to Riddle's long, spidery fingers which flexed, then uncurled and disappeared into a pocket of his silky black robes. They reappeared a moment later, holding a small black flask.

_The antidote_, Harry thought instantly as he watched him uncork the vial and bring it to his lips.

Voldemort never drank from it though. He halted just before the first drop of liquid could enter his mouth, his eyes fixed onto something before him. His face grimaced in distaste.

"Negura," he breathed out, his voice freezing cold. He plugged the flask mechanically and hid it back in his robes.

Merely hearing that name made Harry's throat tighten. Still he held his stance unlike Hermione, who sank to the floor, pressing her palm against her mouth. She couldn't hold back a whimper and Harry instantly understood why.

The black pillar which stood at the edge of the crater wasn't a pillar at all.

It was a human body. Awfully burned, seared nearly to the bone, black and sloughing … and yet incredibly, impossibly alive.

"Still in one piece, I see," the Dark Lord whispered maliciously as he watched the immortal with growing disdain.

The sounds of flames, wind and distant police sirens were the only reply he received.

With a quick flick of his wand Voldemort conjured a sharp wooden pole, balancing it in his thin, pale hand.

"I've been waiting for this moment for a very long time," he spoke quietly, while gazing at the blackened figure with a malevolent stare. "It makes me almost happy that you were able to endure that much. It makes my revenge a lot sweeter. I've always wished to see you suffer till the very end."

He tucked up his sleeves, baring his tenuous wrists, then clenching his fingers around the pole firmly.

"Tell me, Dragomir … are you still disappointed by our duel?" he asked pointedly. "Or did you finally learn the price you're going to pay for your betrayal? Do you regret it now? Too late, Lord Voldemort has no mercy for … traitors."

The burned vampire took an unsteady step backward and raised his hands in a futile attempt to protect himself from what was coming. Harry's eyes jumped from him to Voldemort and back. His chest heaved as he watched the Dark Lord launch the final attack.

Harry had never seen any fight like this. Voldemort's and Negura's powers might have been entirely different, yet both of them mastered their magical potential to perfection. And none of them wanted to give up and run away. Voldemort was motivated by a sheer hatred and Negura … Harry didn't know what exactly the vampire felt. He just knew that the Leader wanted Voldemort on his knees and that he _nearly_ succeeded. Minutes ago Voldemort was losing and yet he managed to pull himself together against all odds. Now it was Negura who stood no chance against the furious Dark Lord.

Mr. Ollivander was right in the end, when he thought that Voldemort was formidable. Yet Harry still wasn't scared of him, he wasn't abashed in the slightest. Though he couldn't deny a certain tension and particular feeling of envy. If he had such a power, he would never have to be afraid for his friends anymore. He would be able to protect them all no matter what.

However, he was also wise enough to be aware of what a thirst for power can do to a wizard. After all, Voldemort was an excellent example of it and Harry didn't want to follow in his footsteps for sure.

Meanwhile, the Dark Lord reached the striking distance and his arm holding the sharp wooden pole moved in a flash. Harry closed his eyes; he didn't want to see that. Just as his eyelids touched a whiff of a cold air ruffled his unruly hair and then he heard a quiet, soft cry.

Hermione grasped and squeezed his forearm forcefully.

And Harry looked up with trepidation … and what he saw stunned him completely.

Voldemort didn't miss what he was aiming for, only … the person he stabbed wasn't the one who he wanted to kill...

"_Dragomir...*" _

A woman, pretty and beautiful embraced Negura's burned body, clinging to his neck, desperately clutching at his blackened skin. Her long, ebony hair fell over her narrow shoulders in cascades, hiding her face from the rest of the world.

"_Dragomir,*"_ she whispered again, her voice agonized and loving at once.

It would be surely a very emotional moment to watch if there wasn't a wooden pole morbidly sticking out of her back.

Voldemort was apparently taken aback by her sacrifice. He took a step back, then another one and finally sank to one knee, breathing heavily.

"Le... ohh … ti … na..." Negura finally stuttered out. His voice was broken, barely comprehensible, which made it all the more terrifying. Her mouth moved quickly against his blackened skin as she spoke in a fast whisper.

"_It's too late my dearest Child. Forgive me and drink … quickly. Never forget that I've … always loved … only_..._*"_

Her lips disconnected with his cheek and then her body sagged in his arms as what life was in her vampiric body melted away.

Harry watched the scenery stunned and horrified. He couldn't understand it. How was it possible that a vampire sacrifice herself for another vampire? Weren't they merely soulless monsters unable to feel any form of love? So what was this about?

He felt Hermione clenching her fingers around his wrist repeatedly but didn't show any response. His shock multiplied as he watched Negura howl in agony, bare his horrible teeth and bit furiously into the woman's pale neck. Their bodies began to change instantly; just as Leontina shrank, her skin turning into something like a dry old parchment, cracking and peeling off layer after layer, Negura grew a new tissue, new flesh and skin. His mouth separated from her when she was nothing more than a grey little mummy, but the process didn't stop there. Moments later, only few fragile bones remained in the Leader's arms; it was all that was left of a body which actually died hundreds or maybe even thousands years ago. Dragomir held her gently, stroking the small skull, his eyes firmly closed, moans leaving his once again perfect lips.

"Leontina," he breathed out, his voice shaking and pleading.

"How could you leave me alone? You've promised me to always stand by my side forever. You've always been there... _What … just what am I going to do … without you?*"_

He leaned down and pressed his lips against her skull.

"_You must come back to me … you … I beg you …Leontina!*"_

The bones couldn't answer him. She was gone. She was dead and he only slowly started to comprehend it. His fingers caressed her skull once again and then he quietly whispered.

"Sleep well, my dear. I can only deeply regret that I … loved him more than you."

He exhaled slowly, looking at the hyperventilating Dark Lord, who struggled to open the black flask once again.

"Far more than he deserved. Now I see that he was not worth it," the Leader hissed coldly. Voldemort glanced at him and for the first time apprehension prevailed over the usual malice on his face.

"I will revenge you, dearest," the vampire continued quietly, his voice becoming more and more threatening. "That's what I solemnly promise!"

Negura reached out his hand and his seemingly lost wand miraculously jumped back into his waiting palm. Then he conjured a satin cloak and deposited Leontina's fragile bones on it, taking the remnants of her fingers in his hands, pulling down her small silver ring and sliding it on his little finger.

Then he rose to his feet again, still completely naked, but with another flick of his wand he was dressed in black and ruby robes and took a step closer to Voldemort.

The Dark Lord meanwhile fought an uneven battle with the cork of the vial. His movements were quickly losing the necessary coordination. His hands shook, although he visibly tried to control the tremors. When the plug finally went off with a quiet pop, he greedily brought the flask to his mouth.

A kick in his face made him roar in pain and fury, but then the sound of shattering glass halted every sound coming from his mouth. His worriment was quickly replaced with a pure terror, but only for a moment. The water-like liquid spilled from the black flask hissed as it evaporated from the bricks heated by fire.

Voldemort's trembling fingers curled into fists but when he looked up again, the fear was gone, his face filled with detestation again.

"You bloodsucking freak," he hissed venomously. "You still think you can hurt me. I'll … crush you like the rest of those vermin of yours." He slowly stood up and raised his yew wand.

Negura's navy blue eyes flashed as he came closer to him, so close that the tip of Voldemort's wand pressed into his chest.

"Do it then," he said softly. "Just do it, Voldemort. I can't wait to watch you die right after that."

Riddle didn't say a word, only his lips tightened for a second.

"You must realize that you've lost, you're finished. You've taken everything from me and now it's my turn to do the taking," Negura said cruelly. "You'll die tonight, desolated, stripped of everything, even of your own magic."

The vampire retreated to Leontina's remains, wrapped them into the satin cloak and picked them up.

"I was very kind to you," he said. "I was nice and patient … and this is how you repaid me. I offered you immortality and you only hurt me in return. It's all over now. I'll show you how cruel I can be."

He turned his head towards Harry, and the youngster instinctively hid Hermione behind himself. Harry felt how she trembled under Negura's gaze and so he tried to resist his own dread as much as possible.

Negura didn't call his name, however.

"Draco Malfoy," he said snidely, "come here my sweet, young godson."

For a long moment it was quiet, only the quickly approaching police and firemen's sirens could be heard. Harry feverishly wondered, where the hell were the Aurors? Or did Umbridge know what happened here? Had she ordered them not to come? It wouldn't surprise Harry much. The youngster however shuddered at the thought of what would happen if they arrived and rather thought of what Negura could possibly want from Malfoy.

"Don't make me drag you here, boy! You know the time has come for you to show your _master_ your true loyalties," the Leader spoke softly.

A quiet shuffling sound could be heard soon enough.

Draco, still whimpering, slowly passed Harry and Hermione, coming closer to Negura, his head bent down, his steps uneven.

"Please," he whispered as he came closer. "Please … don't make me..."

The horror in his weak voice made Harry's fists curl. He wanted to hit Negura's perfect, sly face, he wanted to hurt him but he couldn't risk a possibility of drawing the vampire's attention to Hermione. So he forced himself to stay unmoving, taking quick glances at Voldemort. Riddle seemed to suffer serious pains, which brought Harry back to what Hermione told him about the antidote. Negura destroyed that flask, which meant … no, he didn't even want to think about that. Harry's muscles tensed, as the Dark Lord suddenly sank onto his left knee and his breathing became irregular. As Harry watched him, he began to recall the events of the past few days. The cave, the hospital and then Mr. Rodger's house as they lay side by side, talking … arguing but why it felt so _nice_? His thought didn't stop there and he remembered the way Voldemort saved Sheena and how he came here, saving his life in the very last second.

He also recalled the way he glared at him when he though Harry was in love with Draco and then he thought about the remarkable satin quality of his skin, how pleasantly it tingled his fingertips when he touched it … he could almost feel his warm breath against his lips.

Harry looked at his clenched fists, a resolution building inside him. If Voldemort needed the antidote for his survival, then Harry would find one, whatever it may cost him.

"Come here Draco!" Negura's sudden strong voice made Harry jump a little and grit his teeth. The young Death Eater bent his head even more, yet he obeyed.

"What are you doing, Malfoy? Kill him!" Voldemort snarled, still on his knees, gasping for breath.

Draco winced, his large grey eyes glanced at the Dark Lord quickly before he bored them into the floor, shivering.

"Just look at him, Draco," Negura ordered, came over to him and raised his chin. "You'll see that there's nothing to be afraid of. He can no longer cause you any harm. You don't have to listen to him anymore."

Draco only whimpered.

"What are you waiting for, Malfoy?" Voldemort snarled, clenching the yew wand in his palm, trying to get up, but failing.

Draco, on the other hand did raise his wand, pointing it at the man beside him, but a few seconds later it uselessly sank back. He didn't utter a single word.

"You see, Voldemort," Negura said softly, "he won't hurt me, not even on your direct order. Now, watch how your _traitors_ will have no mercy with you and condemn you to death."

The young Death Eater choked, palming his mouth.

"Malfoy," Voldemort hissed furiously. "_You wouldn't dare_!"

"I … can't …," Draco muttered through fingers, his whole body shaking in strong tremors. Negura brought him closer and lay his arm around his trembling shoulders in a fatherly gesture.

"Draco," he said quietly. "You'll take me to Voldemort's hideout. I have to burn that nest of evil to ashes with everything what's inside. You are going to help me with this task."

"No!" the young Malfoy cried and backed away. "Please, no. Please, please … don't make me do it!"

Harry extracted himself from Hermione's clutch and gestured to her to stay behind. It was too much for him; he had to stop it right now. Using Negura's distraction, he slowly tried to approach him.

"Oh, my dear boy," Negura sighed in fake disappointment. "You must listen to my good advices, otherwise I might easily think that you value Voldemort's ideals more than mine. I don't consider you as my enemy, dear child, and you certainly don't want to become one, do you? You don't want to meet the same end as your master."

Draco's knees buckled. He began to sob.

"Come with me and live. Or stay at Voldemort's side and die. It's that simple Draco. Make your decision."

"Don't listen to him, Malfoy! He's going to kill you anyway!" Harry called out, running towards them, giving up on a secret attack. He knew that Draco will break and do wherever the Leader wanted him to do. Negura will destroy Voldemort, using that young Death Eater, who would be dead already if Harry didn't pay such a high prize for his life. Voldemort must regretted agreeing with Harry. He must regretted sparing someone's life. It just gave Harry another reason why to despise Negura.

"Potter," the vampire sneered and with a flick of his wand knocked Harry down. "You were unexpectedly right about him, Voldemort. That boy's way too bothering and persistent."

Then the vampire turned back to the blonde.

"So?" he asked shortly. "Are you coming with me, godson?"

Draco was on his knees too, hiding his tears behind his palms.

"I …I … can't … please…!"

"Very well..." The Leader's voice changed to be colder than ice. "If that's what you wish..."

"No!" Draco screamed as he faced Negura's wand. He looked at Voldemort, who watched him with an accusing stare and shivered again. He still slowly got up, came over to the vampire and said with a broken voice.

"I … I … I'm coming with you, my Leader."

Negura's victorious smirk made Harry nearly vomit.

"Good boy," he whispered and grasped his elbow. "You're much more cooperative than the so-called hero Potter, who's siding with his enemy. Ah, no matter, finishing Voldemort is my priority. I'll deal with that brat later."

Harry snarled under his breath and raised himself from the floor (with Hermione's great help and support). As the couple Apparated away Voldemort who still somehow managed to keep himself upright heavily sank to the floor and closed his eyes.

"Hey," Harry whispered and took a step towards him. Then he halted and turned to Hermione, who was unusually pale and quiet. He heard new voices, which reached them from across the havoc. Someone was already here, searching through the ruins. Harry even saw the lights coming from the wands. He knew he must not hesitate. Besides, he already made his decision.

"Hermione," he said softly and took a deep, painful breath. "May I ask a favour of you?"

"Of course, Harry. Just tell me what you need," she whispered, her eyes still fixed to the place where Voldemort collapsed.

"Thanks. Please, just hold the Aurors back for three minutes."

She looked up at him, her eyes filled with surprise. But she didn't ask anything, only nodded. She took two steps before looking at him once again.

"Harry … whatever you're going to do … please, be careful."

"I will," he promised. "I'll meet you and the rest of the Order in half of hour at Hogwarts, okay?"

She nodded again and hesitantly asked.

"Do you need my wand?"

Harry considered it for a moment and then he shook his head.

"Er … no, thanks but I'm thinking of another option. Just go stop them, please," he said and watched her hurry away. Then he turned to Voldemort.

He overcame the distance quickly, knelt beside him and grasped his shoulder.

"Wake up," he said firmly and shook him. When he was met with no response he added the force.

"Wake up, Tom!"

Voldemort opened his sanguine eyes and snarled.

"Gah... Potter… How is it possible that Negura didn't kill you yet?" he hissed poisonously.

"I see you're pleasant as ever," Harry snapped.

"Crawl up Malfoy's ass and die there."

Harry sighed loudly before he countered.

"Oh Merlin, I can't believe that after everything that happened tonight you're still so jealous!"

"I am what?-!" Voldemort hissed like a rabid snake but then his body doubled up in pain, effectively stopping his fit of fury.

Harry shook his head, leaned to his ear and softly whispered.

"Don't you think that if I were in love with Malfoy, I would be preferentially trying to help him instead of you, bastard?"

The sanguine eyes met Harry's green ones and grew wide.

"What … do you mean?" his pale lips moved slowly.

"You're the genius here. Why don't you make your own conclusion?" Harry said firmly. "Now, get up. I must take you to your hideout before Negura can destroy it. I'm sure you have the antidote for _Fortiserum _there, am I right?"

Voldemort gazed at him, breathless.

"And why would you want to help me, Potter?" he finally asked, his burning eyes making holes through Harry's head as he desperately searched for the answer.

At that moment Harry was too tired to give him a lengthy, sensible explanation. He took a hold of Riddle's chin, raised it up a little and descended on his mouth with his own dry, cracked lips. For a few long seconds he lingered there, enjoying the silky feeling, the way the other man's skin warmed up against his immediately, the way Voldemort's breath hitched in his throat. He had to pull away then and he did so with certain reluctance. As they finally separated he looked down at the Dark Lord who remained shockingly composed – at least at cursory glance.

"Was that a satisfactory answer?" Harry whispered. When Riddle didn't say anything, he continued. "Tom, we really must go _now_."

After some hesitation, Voldemort slowly raised his hand and sneaked it around Harry's shoulders.

"You may assist me," he said simply, and then added. "Though if you call me Tom again, I will rip off your tongue that instant."

"Oh, you would soon miss it," Harry muttered as he hoisted him up onto his feet.

"What was that?" Voldemort hissed, but Harry only smirked.

"Nothing … I need your wand now."

Voldemort's eyes widened for a fraction of second and the corner of his lips involuntary jerked as if he wanted to laugh at Harry's insolence but forgot how.

"Give you _my_ wand, Potter? If you really thought that I would do something like that, then you're more insane than I considered you to be," he hissed, incredulous, though not as mad as Harry expected.

Still, the young wizard gritted his teeth.

"Insane? Sounds funny coming from you. But, let's face the situation. You can't use magic and as you can see I'm presently without a wand. I can hardly Apparate us like that. So, if you mind so much to lend me yours, we can always stay here and say hello to the Aurors behind that wall!"

Voldemort said nothing to that, he was obviously thinking. Harry looked up and met his fiery gaze. He didn't know how to transfer the urgency he felt on the suspicious Dark Lord.

"I'm not going to steal it. I promise," he whispered quietly.

Voldemort broke their stare and glanced at the wall separating them from his immediate demise.

"You can touch it, Potter," he said finally. "I will use your magic to Apparate us."

Harry nodded and slid his hand down Voldemort's forearm, over his bony wrist and long fingers towards the warm, wooden stick he held.

The moment he touched it the world around him imploded, squeezing his sore chest and whole body drastically, before releasing him again. He coughed for some time, rubbing the soreness off his thorax.

The sound of a horn alarmed him, but Harry soon realized that it was just a passing lorry. He exhaled and took another deep breath, smelling something decaying right away. The stench was probably coming the overflowing garbage bin which stood ten feet from him in the shadow of an old tree. Harry turned his head to the other side, glancing over the houses and squinting as the sharp artificial light of the street light blinded him for a second. The cold hand clinging to his shoulder tightened its grasp, boring the claws into his muscles.

"Stop dawdling, Potter," Voldemort hissed and Harry blinked and looked at his face.

"We're here already?" he asked hesitantly. It was a surprise for him, though seeing these surroundings was somehow in correlation with Harry's suspicion that Voldemort lived in a house built by muggles.

"Almost," Voldemort retorted and gave him further direction. Soon they rushed through a small park and crossed a wide street.

It was early in the morning, the sky was still dark and muggles were mostly still asleep, however Harry could imagine how animated this wide street could be during the day.

They passed several residences and Harry slowly began to wonder how far they would have to go. He hoped that in such an emergency Voldemort would Apparate them directly into the house. It didn't happen, but maybe it wasn't possible – Harry didn't know.

Harry nevertheless noticed the growing tension in the Dark Lord's body. The longer they went, the more the man hurried. Finally, they turned left from the pavement onto a long driveway. Voldemort prolonged his steps so much that Harry had to trot beside him. The old building was quiet, nothing showed that it was – or should be under the attack. All the windows were black – whatever residents were inside, they were probably asleep.

Voldemort released his hold on Harry's shoulder and rushed forward, raising his wand.

Harry watched him approach the entrance door, already feeling relieved that they made it in time. But before he could start to think about what he was going to do with Voldemort who will be temporarily stripped of magic after drinking the antidote, a roaring, billowing noise together with flames of an abnormal size knocked him back to reality. For a second he though it was some protection wall, which Voldemort used against the intruders, but according to the Dark Lord's reaction that wasn't the case. The flames grew higher and higher, consuming the whole house within seconds.

Harry, over his shock, remembered when he had seen such a destructive fire before. It was three years ago in the Room of Requirement. Crabbe cast that horrible spell to kill them all.

"Fiendfyre," he whispered quietly. "The cursed fire."

He hesitated only a second. Then he ran after Voldemort.

He saw the Dark Lord trying to perform some magic – and it was working – Riddle was managing to stifle the wild flames, but the pressure and exhaustion he had undergone tonight must have been enormous. All the magic he recovered during past minutes was soon gone and nothing could stop him from collapsing to the ground.

Once freed from the magical restriction, the fire fully broke forth once again.

"Tom!" Harry screamed and finally reached him, grasping his robes and dragging him away from the range of the extremely dangerous flames.

"Voldemort!" he said more urgently, but the wizard didn't seem to be aware of his presence. The Dark Lord overdid that by far, the _Fortiserum_ already brought him to his limits.

"Damn it," Harry cursed, his fingers tightening onto the Dark Lord's robes. He could only hope that the Death Eaters inside will try to stop it by themselves. But if they were sleeping...!

A sound of shattering glass and a horrible scream nearly perforated Harry's ears. A burning figure jumped through the window, trying to escape the fire, yet already condemned to the most horrible death.

"NO!" Harry roared and jerked off his sweater and shirt, throwing it at the poor man in a hopeless attempt to blanket the fire. The effect was quite the opposite, it only fueled the horrible flames.

"No!" Harry screamed again, ran back to Voldemort, wrested the wand out of his firm grip and pointed it at the burning figure.

"_Aquamenti!" _The water merely turned into a vapor the second it touched the flames. Harry was desperate … he didn't learn about these Darkest Arts during his training yet, which he deeply regretted now. How was he supposed to stop it?-!

He failed to save that poor man, so he turned to the building, focusing all his will power on the next spell.

"_Finite Incantatem!"_

It didn't work, though the wand listened to him amazingly. It wasn't the proper counter-spell, the fire still grew in strength.

Harry staggered back to Voldemort and sank to the ground.

"Sheena," he whimpered, his eyes slowly filling with tears. He was losing her. The thought that he would probably never touch her soft, glistering scales again and he would never hear her quiet taunting voice calling him 'amigo' was a torture. The despair he felt made him sick. His body couldn't take the physical and emotional exhaustion anymore.

"I can't stop it alone … Voldemort! You have to help me! Wake up!" he implored, ignorant of what was left of his Gryffindor pride.

"Wake up, please... Don't let Sheena die … don't let Negura win over you...," he whispered, but the Dark Lord remained unresponsive. Slowly, Harry lay his trembling palm over Voldemort's inert hand and closed his eyes. It was hopeless; the Dark Lord was powerless, defeated.

And so was Harry.

He didn't know how long he sat there, tears prickling in his eyes, listening to the appalling sounds of destruction. It couldn't be longer than minutes but it felt like hours.

"I'm sorry," he whispered to no one. "I know I failed."

"You're still here," whispered a weak voice.

Harry started tremendously and looked down. Voldemort was watching him through his barely opened eyes.

"The Boy Who Lived … brave so much that he's foolish, impudent and reckless like a child, good and noble beyond common sense. Yet … you … didn't fail me … Harry."

The way he said his name made Harry's throat tighten. Riddle had never said his name with such a tone. Usually, he only said it to mock his juvenility. Now, his voice held much more acceptance. It made Harry feel all the worse.

"But I failed to get the antidote, I couldn't stop the fire … why aren't you mad at me?"

Voldemort took his time before he replied.

"Because being mad at you is so simple, easy. Yet you've made the most difficult decisions because of me … for me. And I am not blind to that. But now, you should go away boy. The Aurors are coming here as well. I don't think you want to see that," he said blankly.

"What are you saying?-! Have you lost your mind?-! I can't leave you here! Gosh, they're going to kill you!" Harry cried and grasped Voldemort's collar, shaking him. "I won't let it happen... I … I'll take you..."

"Where?" Voldemort hissed. "I'm going to die anyway, Potter."

"To Hogwarts," Harry finished firmly.

"And you think your friends are going to take care of me? You are such a fool. Besides, it's too late. Give me back my wand which _you promised not to steal_ and go home, you silly boy."

"I..."

The cracks of Apparation made Harry's whole body stiffen. He quickly leaned to Voldemort and whispered to his ear.

"I don't have a home anymore. You've destroyed it, because of that freak, Negura. I honestly can't let that monster win so easily. He murdered thousands of people! He took away the lives of my two dear friends tonight! So if it is your death what he wants, than trust me, I won't let it happen."

Harry pressed his lips quickly against the cold, soft cheek and added.

"And because of that, I need your wand for a little longer."

He got up, rising the object of their dispute and cast the Shield Charm as the first stupefying curses flew in the air.

The yew wand once again complied with his wishes. It served him even better than the hawthorn wand he stole Malfoy. It was nearly as good as his old precious holy wand, which reminded him that this was its brother after all. If Harry had time to think about it, he would certainly find this whole matter very discomfiting. But he couldn't afford to stop paying attention to a dozen of dark figures, who were rushing towards him. He recognized the first two soon enough. It was Umbridge, her toad-like face widely grinning in an unconcealed glee.

"It's him, it's him!" she screamed. "We've finally got him! You were right, Leader, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's here, defeated!"

Negura, who was right behind her, remained impassive, glaring at Harry instead of Voldemort.

Harry moved. He levitated Voldemort from the ground and grasped his forearm.

Umbridge was very close now and she observed Harry's action with growing suspicion and distaste.

"You didn't kill him, did you Potter?" she snarled at him as if Harry just stole her life-time victory.

But Harry didn't answer – he couldn't because he suddenly recognized the wand in her palm.

It was the Elder Wand.

_The Elder Wand. _

It was the wand which Voldemort lost in the cave. The wand which was found by someone who decided that it will be better if Harry and his archenemy died by cold or hunger thirty feet under ground. Someone who _desired to see them dead_. Someone who thought that their existence limited her own power.

And that someone was Dolores Umbridge, Minister for Magic, who employed a bloodthirsty, cruel and revengeful vampire, Dragomir Negura.

Harry snapped.

"STUPEFY!" he roared and watched with a great satisfaction as a red flash hit her corpulent body, which instantly toppled over and thudded loudly against the ground.

Negura sputtered in anger, pulling out his wand, but Harry moved like an experienced fighter and send out his favourite curse.

"_Expelliarmus!_"

The wand jumped out of Negura's palm and Harry immediately used the moment of surprise to chain him with a nonverbal spell. It worked before, why wouldn't it work again? And yes, it was amazing, the yew wand obeyed his every whim. Harry really began to like it.

Negura snarled in fury, tore the chains apart and as a result more figures were running towards them, but the youngster had a split-second advantage. He grasped Voldemort's motionless body, looked at the Leader for one last time and before he turned on the spot he whispered loud enough for the vampire to hear that.

"I'll make sure he will live."

And with a loud crack they disappeared.

xxxxx

When the pinioning darkness was lifted off Harry's body, he breathed out the fire in his lungs and staggered towards the closest tree, resting his back against it.

"Hell, I can't believe I've really made it. I've never Apparated that far before."

Harry expected some response from his companion, but Voldemort didn't say anything. He lay where Harry dropped him, face buried in a humid, cold forest soil. Someone would probably found his position funny and humiliating, but none of it occurred to Harry. He closed his eyes, relaxed his muscles to recover some strength, then breathed in the clear, icy air and listened to the sounds of the woods close before a dawn.

"It's been a long time since I last was in this forest," he said. "Almost three years. I'm sure you recall those events too. It feels like it was yesterday that Hagrid carried me towards the castle while I pretended to be dead."

Voldemort remained quiet.

"Anyway, who says that history doesn't repeat over and over? Though, there is a considerable twist in events comparing it to the last time, isn't there?"

The Dark Lord only breathed out loudly and Harry nodded.

"Ah … right, there's no time for sentiment. I must not forget we're in a hurry."

He came over to him, levitated him again, encircled Riddle's long arms around his neck and settled him on his own back.

"It's not very far, but what do you think about having a talk before we reach the gate?" Harry asked, seeking for the lights of the castle.

Voldemort still didn't reply and Harry began to feel suspicion that the man was unconscious. Maybe, it would be easier that way. Riddle didn't have to know everything.

"Great," Harry whispered, breathing heavily as they mounted up a steep hill, "I really enjoy talking to you when you can't spit your insults at me."

Harry had to stop for a moment, his sore lungs were hurting due to his inadequate fitness. But he could see the castle already and it gave him new strength.

"Damn, it's so cold," Harry shuddered. He was only in his undershirt and the heat his body absorbed from the Fiendfyre was already gone. Moreover, Voldemort wasn't exactly warming him up.

Oh crap … he didn't just think that. He rubbed his arms and looked upwards. He let his thoughts wander, searching for a distraction. He asked the first thing which occurred to him.

"Honestly, who would have thought that you are so 'self-destructive'?" he said. "I mean, how is it that you can only have a crush on people who can potentially destroy you? It's not exactly … safe. For you at least."

Harry knew already that it was going to be a monologue. If Voldemort were awake, this question would certainly stir some reaction on his part, which didn't happen.

"Everyone has different needs. Maybe you don't prefer having safe sex," Harry chuckled and resumed walking up the hill.

"Uh … just please, don't die on me, Voldemort," he gasped a minute later, resting again. "I promised Negura that you'll kick his ass later. There's hardly anyone else who can do it."

Only few dozens of feet separated Harry from the end of the ascend and he focused on surmounting it. When the hill finally flattened and he could spot the old gate to his beloved school, he sighed in relief.

"You told me to go home, so we're here," he said, breathing quickly, shallowly. "Now I have to make sure you'll get the antidote in time. I wouldn't worry too much, because professor Slughorn inherited Snape's perfectly equipped Potion's repository and he certainly wouldn't miss such a special potion in his collection. However, convincing him and Madam Pomfrey to give it to you will be more problematic. Well … I think that I can deal with Horace, but Madam Pomfrey? I have a distinct feeling that she will refuse even if I promise her to repot her Mandrakes for the whole term."

Harry halted his pace suddenly.

"And there's also Kingsley … and Professor McGonagall. They'll be more mad than I've ever seen them before. Oh damn, talking to them is not going to be easy. Especially now, when I'm officially a criminal again. I shouldn't have attacked Umbridge, no matter how much I enjoyed it. Too late to regret it now I guess. And then, my friends … I hope they're all right … they are going to be shocked and upset... I'll be getting it from them too..."

The youngster resumed the pace and approached the high stony wall, looking over the surroundings and then turning his face to the Dark Lord, whose head rested on his shoulder. He hesitated a little longer before speaking quietly.

"There is one more thing which is quite official. I would hardly do any of this if I didn't feel what I'm feeling right now and if you didn't … er … if … we didn't…"

Harry bit his lip and cursed under breath. "Oh Merlin, why the hell am I stammering? It's not like you're listening to me, right?"

He had to spit it out already.

"I really need to finally say this or I'll go crazy, I swear … so … shortly, there is this _something_ about you which I've learned to like … a lot. Although," Harry paused and scratched his cheek, "I have no idea what_ that something_ exactly it is yet. And I really want to find out, so I will face it. I will face everything to discover the truth."

Harry nodded, making a new resolution as he looked up at the old, massive gate in front of him, ready to face a whole new adventure which lay in this castle and in his future.

_**Fin**_

_**R&R**_

**Author's note:** Yes, there will be a sequel and the title will be The love accident. So if you liked this story, you have something to look forward to! :D


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